Growing Up Winchester
by On the road so far
Summary: Wee!chester series starting from the moment Dean finds out he's going to have a little brother, going through the ups and downs of their childhoods before and after Mary. Separated into two parts (so far). Lots of fluff in American Pie. Ready your tissues for Tuesday's Gone. T for language. Hope ya'll enjoy!
1. American Pie: 1

**Oh, Brother!**

Mary was nervous. More nervous than when she had told John, considering the relationship with her husband had been strained as of late; work had him stressed as he tried to pick up more hours and as a result he'd been drinking more. But what would her little boy think? He was her heart, and she couldn't bear to disappoint him, no matter how much John claimed she was spoiling him. She'd never had the life she'd been able to give to Dean: stability, safety, and imaginary monsters. And her little angel deserved every bit of it. He was funny, so very smart for his age, oh so adorable, and endlessly filled with love. But what would he think of his parents now? Would he think that they loved him less? Would he be jealous or throw a classic Dean Winchester tantrum? She rubbed her tummy that was just beginning to swell.

John rested his hand on her shoulder. "You ready?" he asked as they prepared to face their toddler.

Dean would tell anyone who listened (or rather, anyone within earshot) that he was three years old, but he could count all the way to twenty if he tried really, really hard. He knew all his colors, so knew that his Mommy had blue eyes, his Daddy had brown, and he had green. Sometimes Mommy wasn't happy with Daddy though, and she yelled at him, and he yelled at her, and then he left for awhile. It was during times like that he'd sit on his mother's lap and just look in his mother's eyes and whisper to her how her eyes were the prettiest blue he'd ever seen, how pretty he thought _she_ was. His parents were in front of him now. They were smiling, but Dean wasn't quite sure if they were pretend-smiling or not, which he noticed adults tended to do a lot.

"Wha's wrong?" he asked in a worried little voice.

"Nothing sweetie," said his mother, smiling for real this time at his adorable worried face.

They bent down to his level. "We have something to tell you, Dean," said his father.

"And we want you to know that we will always love you just the same, no matter what," his mother interjected.

He looked back and forth between them, unsure what to think. His father smiled and ruffled his hair. Dean liked when he did that, it meant he was happy.

They were stalling with the news, however, so he threw his hands up and exclaimed, "Jus' hurry up and say it already!" Dean had never been one for patience.

They chuckled at him. "Well sweetie," continued his mother, "Mommy and Daddy are going to have a baby. You're going to have a baby brother or sister."

Dean's jaw dropped and he stuck his tongue out. One hand crossed over his heart, then the other. He started bouncing around in delight. Oh this was the best news ever! "I'm be big brother?" he practically shrieked. "I'm gonna have baby brother! Baby brother! Baby brother! Baby brother!" he chanted in bliss as he hopped around the room, his hands still clutching his heart.

"Guess he's not jealous," Mary laughed as their son did laps around the room.

"Dean, you might have a baby sister, we don't know yet," John tried to explain.

"Where is he? Where is he?" he asked, planting himself in front of his parents again, expecting them to pull his new brother from behind their backs.

His mother smiled and laughed. Dean liked when she did that, and he liked that he could make his mother do that. "It's not going to be for awhile sweetie, and you might have a baby sister, not a baby brother."

His brow furrowed in confusion. "But where is he?" he asked, refusing to acknowledge the chance of anything but a brother.

"Well," John said, trying to figure out the words to say it. "The baby's in Mommy's tummy right now growing."

"YOU ATE MY BROTHER?" shouted Dean, shocked that his perfect mother could do such a horrible thing.

Both his parents were practically on the floor laughing by now. Dean didn't understand, this wasn't funny! They told him he was going to have a brother, but his mother ate him instead!?

"No! Dean, sweetie," Mary tried to explain as she wiped tears of laughter away. "The baby's really, really small right now, and the safest place to grow is in Mommy's tummy. So you can't meet him yet, but in a few months when the baby's bigger he or she can come out of Mommy and meet you."

"A few months!?" exclaimed Dean. This was getting more stressful by the second. He fell to the floor in fake exhaustion. He didn't know how long a few months was, but it seemed like a really long time. His parents were trying hard to suppress giggles, and Dean still couldn't figure out why. He just laid there and thought for a moment. "So..." he began slowly as he lifted his head up, trying to put the pieces together. "Did I come from Mommy's tummy too?"

"Yes, you did," said John, proud of how fast Dean had caught on.

"Bu'... how did I ge' dere? How did _he_ ge' dere," he mused, finally standing up and pointing at his mother's tummy.

Mary and John exchanged glances of _Oh, God, our kid's too smart. What do we say to that?_

"Well," Mary started slowly. _When did my little boy grow up?_ "Sometimes, the love a Mommy and a Daddy have for each other is _so_ strong, that a baby is made."

They might as well have told him it would be Christmas every day, his face lit up so bright. "So even though you figh' you still love each other!" He might not be able to meet his brother today, but at least he knew his parents loved one another enough to make him a brother.

His parents shifted awkwardly at the veiled accusation that Dean had noticed them fighting. John took his wife's hand, and gave her a look that let her know that he would try harder to be a better father, a better husband. Mary squeezed his hand in reply.

She smiled and stood up reaching for Dean's hand, who readily took it. "Dean, baby, I think the meatloaf's almost done. Can you help Mommy set the table?"

"Yeah!" he exclaimed, his eyes wide with excitement as he bounded towards the kitchen, mother in tow.

This had been the best day ever! His mom had made a delicious meatloaf, his parents still loved each other, and that love meant that he was going to have a baby brother.


	2. American Pie: 2

**What's in a Name?**

Dean was snuggled in his mother's lap as they sat at the kitchen table, a piece of paper laid before them. Mary tapped her pencil against the table as she waited for Dean to answer. They were thinking of baby names together, and although Mary had some ideas of her own, she wanted to see what her son would come up with.

"Bruce?" he suggested, twisting his head around so he could see her face.

His mother giggled, instantly catching on to his train of thought. "No, sweetie, you're my Batman, there can't be two of you, can there?"

He gently patted his mother's ever growing tummy. He had a one track mind today. "Robin."

Dean was four now, but sometimes he had trouble remembering how many fingers that was when people asked him. He had been waiting for what his mom told him was _four whole months_ since he found out he would be a big brother, but he still had three months to wait.

"You don' like that name, Mommy?" he asked when she didn't reply, his eyes welling up with tears.

 _How am I supposed to resist that?_ Mary would let him name the baby Batman Robin Winchester if he kept it up with that look of his. This kid was going to be trouble for sure when he got older. And if he taught his sibling the ways of manipulating Mommy? Mary was done for, they could have ice cream for breakfast for all she cared. Luckily for her and the baby, she steered away. "I'll think about it, baby. Keep thinking up other names though, in case Daddy doesn't like them."

That was enough to appease his threatening tantrum, and he continued to babble other Batman-related and completely implausible names.

The baby started to kick. It always did when Dean started talking a lot. Dean leaned down to kiss his mother's tummy as his sibling move, then continued on his tirade of names. Not even Mary or her husband could coax their unborn child to move the way their son could. Dean Winchester was already winning over the baby and he was barely out of toddlerhood. That was another thing she was grateful she could give Dean that she didn't have: the love of a sibling. Both she and John were only children, and while that had been fine for them and there was nothing wrong with it, she always wondered what the experience was like. As silly as it sounded, she was living vicariously through her four-year-old, thankful she would raise her child completely different than her own childhood had been.

Mary had been thinking about her father an awful lot lately. She missed him and her mother, despite how much she resented being raised in the hunter lifestyle. She picked up the pencil again. Dean had been named after her mother, so it only seemed right. She wrote down the first name on the paper.

 _Samuel._

Dean immediately stopped talking. "Wha's that say, Mommy?".

She smiled warmly. "Samuel. Or Samantha if it's a girl."

"Sam-mule," he struggled to pronounce. Dean had still refused to acknowledge the possibility of a sister.

"You can call the baby Sam if that's too difficult to say, sweetie. Or Sammy," she added on.

His face lit up, his green eyes sparkling. "Sammy." Dean felt like it was the perfect name. "Sammy, Sammy, Sammy," he repeated as he hopped off his mother lap and began dancing around the room, turning the name into his own little song the way only four-year-olds can.

John walked through the door, home from work. "Daddy!" Dean exclaimed as he leapt into his father's arms. He loved hugging his Daddy, especially since he wasn't able to as often as he did his Mommy since he worked and all. He breathed in the smell of his leather jacket and motor oil and sighed contently.

"Hey, kiddo," said John, rubbing his hair. "How's your day been?"

Suddenly, Dean remembered the important news and his head whipped up. "Sammy," he said simply, pointing at his mother.

"I seem to recall your father being none too found of me, Mary," he said, shifting Dean's weight around so he sat snugly on his hip.

"Oh, he was just looking out for his little girl, John. Besides," she said, tilting her head at Dean, "it seems only right."

Dean was giving his father a full-on angry-pout face and John did a double take. "What'd I do?"

"Sam-mule's his name, so you better not have a prob'em." _The attitude of this kid,_ John thought, but brushed it off.

"What if it's a girl?" John questioned.

"Then his name will be Sa-" he looked towards his mother for help pronouncing the name.

"Samantha," she assisted.

"What if it's a dog?" John teased.

Dean's brow furrowed in confusion. He hadn't considered that possibility. "Then I think you did something wrong," he squeaked. His parents laughed.

"What if... it's a kitty cat?" his dad asked.

Dean's nose crinkled. "I hope not. Cats make me sneeze." He turned towards Mary for reassurance. "He's not a cat, right?"

"No, love," she laughed.

"What if it's a dragon!" John continued.

Dean giggled. "No, Daddy. Now you're just being silly."

"What if... it's a vampire!" said John, tickling Dean. His son screamed in delight. But for Mary, it hit a nerve.

 _That life's over,_ she reminded herself. _Dean and John will never have to worry about those horrors. I'll make sure of that._

John continued teasing Dean with endless impossibilities until their son couldn't take it anymore and was squirming and giggling with delight.

 **Author's Note:** I wrote parts of this slightly intoxicated, so apologies, I'll edit mistakes out in the morning. The idea and wording of everything was worded while sober, I swear. Hope you enjoy.


	3. American Pie: 3

**May 2, 1983**

"Daddy?" a small, worried voice said. John hadn't been at work a couple hours before the phone had rung and his coworker had handed it to him.

"Hey, little dude, what's up?" John had a feeling he knew what was happening, but he wanted to keep his young son calm for as long as possible. He'd been working on his patience, per Mary's request. She didn't want her children raised by the drill sergeant John often reverted to.

"Um, Mommy said she's having..." he searched for the word, "con, con..."

"Contractions?"

"Yeah and she's holding her tummy and she looks like she's in a lotta pain and there's water on the floor and I don' want her to slip." Dean was trying so desparately to keep calm, but this was a whole new world for him. His parents had prepared him as much as they could by having him memorize his dad's work number if mom started having contractions and that it might be scary, but he had to be brave. Hearing about it and experiencing it were two different things, Dean was quickly learning.

"Okay, Dean," his father said. "Hang up the phone and call 911 like we told you okay? Tell Mommy I'll meet her at the hospital."

"Okay, Daddy," the phone clicked.

Dean dialed the next number. "911, what's your emergency?" said an unfamiliar woman's voice.

"Um, hi. I'm Dean Winchester. My-my Daddy said to call you. My Mommy's in a lot of pain and-and-and," a tear rolled down his face. "I'm scared."

"Okay sweetie, what's wrong with your mom?" the lady asked kindly.

"Give me the phone, love," said his mother, whose contractions were fading for now. "I'm having contractions a few minutes apart. My water broke." She gave the dispatcher the address and a few other details. Right then, the contractions started up and she hunched over again. Dean grabbed the phone before it fell.

"Can you hurry please?" he pleaded with the lady.

"An ambulance is on it's way now, sweetie. Can you stay on the line with me?"

"No... no. I gotta help my Mommy," he said, another click.

Dean found he couldn't avoid the water pooled around his mother if he wanted to console her. "It's okay, Mommy," he said rubbing her back. "Amb'lance is coming."

Mary breathed as the contraction passed. "You're doing so good, love. So brave." She rubbed his cheek gently.

"I don't want you to slip," he replied, still worried about the water.

She didn't want to move at all, everything hurt so damn much, but she did to put Dean's mind at ease. She barely made it to the couch as another wave hit her. God, had it hurt this much with Dean? Yes, yes it had, but that didn't make this time around any easier.

And still Dean was there, scared out of his mind, rubbing his mother's back.

Finally the medical team arrived along with the neighbor Mrs. Darla, who John had called before rushing to the hospital and who had agreed to watch Dean through everything. She reached out for Dean's hand, but he pulled away.

"Dean, baby, be good for Mommy, okay?" Mary managed to say as the medical team began their work.

Mrs. Darla picked him up out of their way, but Dean was having none of it and fought her with every fiber of his being. "No, NO!" he shrieked as his mother was taken away on a stretcher, leaving him and Mrs. Darla alone. "I want Mommy! I want Sammy!"

"You can maybe tomorrow, Dean," she said breathlessly as she set the toddler down. She was definitely going to be bruised all over. Dean, however, headed straight for the door. Mrs. Darla barely reacted in time to drag him back into the house, locking the door behind her. He pounded on the door with his little fists as hard as he could, tears flowing freely down his face. His Mommy was hurting. She was holding her tummy so his Sammy must be hurting too. Nothing Mrs. Darla did would console him. Gradually, he wore himself out and curled up into a ball next to the door.

"Last time I do a favor for the Winchesters," she groaned as she lifted the lightly snoring kid and tucked him in bed.

After a long nap, Dean woke up and started assaulting poor Mrs. Darla with an endless string of questions. "Where's my Mommy? Where's Sammy? They okay? Wanna see them." He was threatening another meltdown when his dad walked through the door, a huge smile on his face.

"Daddy!" Dean yelled as he ran into his father's arms. "Mommy and Sammy ok?"

"Yeah, buddy, they're good. You ready to go meet your baby sister?"

"Ye--!" Dean's smile did a 180 as he realized what his father had said. "Oh..." he said, blinking hard to fight back the tears.

His father laughed. "I'm just kidding Dean, you were right. It's a boy!" But Dean was not in the least amused.

"That's not funny, Daddy," he choked out before bursting into tears.

"Dean, you're fine. Don't cry." His father ruffled his hair affectionately. His little boy had always been sensitive, maybe a little too much so.

Dean wiped away his tears with his fist. "I'm- I had a rough day, Daddy."

John chuckled. "Yeah, tell that to your mother."

Once they reached the hallway outside Mary's room, John lectured Dean about the proper way to be around Mommy and the baby. He had to be quiet so he didn't scare Sam. And Mommy still hurt so he had to be gentle with her too. Dean was so nervous he was close to tears again. "What if he doesn't like me?" he asked in a small voice.

"Sam will always love you, Dean. No matter what. Even if it doesn't seem like it at times, and even if you won't always agree on everything, you'll always love each other because you're family. Because we're family: me, you, your mom and little Sammy. We'll always love each other. Never forget that, okay?"

Dean nodded. It was the first and last time his dad would ever come close to saying I love you.

Dean peaked his head into the room as John pushed the door open for him. His mother was laying in bed, cooing at the bundle of blankets in her arms. "Hi, Mommy," he said as quietly as possible.

She turned her head towards him. "Hi, love," she said with warmest smile Dean had ever seen. It was like all the pain he had just seen her go through had never happened.

"Let's wash your hands first," said John, picking him up and leaning him over the sink, scrubbing and soaping up his hands. Once he toweled Dean off, he set him down and Dean quickly shuffled to his mother's bedside, smiling and waiting patiently to be placed on the bed. John obliged.

"What happened to your hands?" his mother asked, noticing the bruises that were beginning to form. She shot a look at John, who was only now noticing them and looked just as confused.

"I..." Dean started, worried he would get in trouble. "I wanted to go with you. I got really scared so I hit the door a lot."

Mary glared at John, wordlessly saying, _We're never leaving our kids alone with Mrs. Darla again._ "Okay, sweetie. You're not in trouble, we just have to find a better way to act when you're scared, okay?" He nodded. She shifted her arms so that Sam was facing him.

Dean was now face to face with his baby brother. "Oh," he whispered in awe, taking in every little feature on the tiny boy's face. He had a button nose and full cheeks. His lips were pressed together contently as his fingers clenched and unclenched unconsciously in his sleep. "He's so cute, Mommy," he praised. He stretched upwards to give his mother a kiss on the forehead then leaned over and gave Sam one on his nose. Sam's face scrunched up like he was going to cry from the disruption of his sleeping, but Dean lightly passed his finger over his cheek and that settled him. He grabbed Dean's finger in his little fist and fell back into a blissful slumber. Now Dean knew for sure what his father had assured him of earlier: Sam loved him. That little moment of stretching out and grabbing his big brother's finger settled in his mind that his brother and that moment was the best thing he had ever encountered in his short life. Better than pie. Better than tickles from Daddy. Better than hugs and kisses from Mommy. And there was nothing in the world that could change that.

 **Author's Note:** Please forgive any factual mistakes - medical or otherwise. I do as much research as I can to make this story as accurate as possible, but I'm not all-knowing. Hope you enjoy this chapter!


	4. American Pie: 4

**Double the Trouble**

John was in way over his head. Mary was gone for the weekend to the wedding of some relative, and with Sam too young to go and Dean too hyper all the time to last through half a ceremony, John had been left in charge of the kids. It was his first time handling the both of them on his own and he was beginning to feel overwhelmed. All those death-glares Mary gave him when he'd mentioned that it'd be nice if she cooked every once in awhile or if laundry was done had been well earned.

Sam was screaming at the top of his lungs. He checked for the tenth time if his diaper needed changing. He'd just fed and burped him thirty minutes ago and Sam had been napping before that. It was going on twenty minutes straight now and John was losing it. To top it all off Dean was having a full-blown meltdown because his father had been attempting to make a meal of his own and he wanted to use the extra-sharp, big-kid knife like Daddy. A plastic butter knife was dangerous in Dean's hands. Someone always got stabbed or poked. Dean got this look in his eye when he picked up a fork and all-of-a-sudden he was a trained assassin. It got so bad John and Mary had to buy finger food half the time just to avoid using utensils. The tears over being denied his weapon of choice had been fake at first, but now he'd worked himself up to the tantrum of all Dean Winchester tantrums, all stops pulled. His tantrums always reached new highs when Sam was inconsolable, as if punishing his parents for not being able to soothe his brother fast enough. John's ears were ringing from all the crying and screaming. Or was that the phone ringing? He couldn't tell. Best not to pick it up anyway, someone would think World War III had broken out. There was only one way John knew how to fix this.

"Dean, put your shoes on, we're going for a drive." John said, hoping Dean would hear him over all the noise.

"No! I don't wanna!" he raged.

John rubbed the bridge of his nose as his patience wore thin. Sam was still screaming and squirming in his arms. "Dean, now," he ordered.

"No, Daddy! You don--"

"DEAN PUT YOUR SHOES ON NOW OR SO HELP ME GOD!"

Dean stopped crying for an instant in shock. Even Sam had been frightened and relented. And then they were back in full force, adding the shock of it all on top of tantrum. But Dean put on his shoes, face contorted as he bawled.

John hadn't meant to yell at his son like that. He hated when he lost his temper. Dean was only four, he was entitled to the occasional meltdown. But _my God_ when both of them went off it was too much.

He managed to strap Sam in his car seat, even with all the kicking and screaming, and Dean reluctantly slid in next to him. John would drive until they quieted. They had to stop sometime, right? Never in his life had he missed Mary so much. She would sing to both of them, comfort, cuddle, and love them. But John could only sit in silence and let them work it out themselves. He wanted to be a better father, he truly did, but he didn't know how to, no one had ever shown him. His dad left when he was Dean's age, and his mom never remarried. So John had to be the best he could for his boys, give them everything he never had. Even if it meant long car rides while his sons cried endlessly in the back seen of his beloved Impala, at least he was there. At least he was trying, at least he gave enough of a crap. Dean had settled finally settled down, staring blankly out the window sniffling. Sam was still whimpering, but he wouldn't last much longer.

"Finally," John sighed, as tired from the experience as his sons were.

"I'm sorry, Daddy." Dean somehow still had a voice after all that. He wiped his cheeks with the back of his hand. "I just wanna know how to use big-kid knives so I can teach Sammy one day." Sam snored lightly next to him in response.

John laughed. "Not with your track record with utensils, you're not."

Dean shrugged. "I was just pretendin'"

"Yeah, well the line between pretend and reality is pretty thin for you, kid."

Dean paused to reflect. "Can you..." he began. "Can you show me how to use 'em the right way? I promise I'll be good."

John looked in his rear view mirror as his son implored him to teach him how to be better. How could he say no to that? He smiled. "Sure kid. As soon as your brother wakes up I'll treat you guys to dinner, sound good?"

It was as if the infamous Dean Winchester Meltdown of '83 had never happened. "Yeah!" said Dean, giddy with delight.

They continued to drive around until Sam roused, Dean pointing out everything he saw in the meantime. Birds, flowers, kids playing, people mowing their lawns, Dean took it all in. He always noticed the little things in life, something John found was very peaceful to join his son in doing, something he had never done before having kids, before meeting Mary.

War changes a man, and John Winchester was no exception. He'd seen his fair share of horrors and hurt during his time as a marine. His mother barely recognized him when he came home from Vietnam, his youthful enthusiasm gone. And then he'd met Mary. They hadn't even liked each other at first, but there was something about her that drew him towards that gentle smile, those bouncing blonde curls. And now here they were, their two kids in the back of the Impala meant to be a VW van.

He sighed contently, pulling into the parking lot of a diner. Dean jumped out eagerly as his dad unfastened Sam, their quest to conquer the skills of using a fork and knife about to begin.


	5. American Pie: 5

**Twice the Fun**

Author's Note: I hardly ever post author's notes, so bear with me this one time. I'm really glad you guys are enjoying this; you guys have no idea how much all the reviews and views mean to me. I've never really shared any of my writing with anyone, even though I want to publish a novel or five some day.

BUT, I'm working 56 hours/per week now because my roommate sucks and I'm crazy, so I might not post as often as ya'll (or I) would like. Bear with me though, I'm not abandoning this story anytime soon.

Anyway, I don't know how long I'll keep writing pre-Mary's death chapters. I really want to see what backstories season 12 has to offer and what I can do with them (God, I love this season), but we'll see. Don't expect happy times forever, though. This is Supernatural afterall, and I have some pretty depressing stuff planned for our boys. :)

Shameless advertisement: Speaking of depressing, if ya'll are into some pretty dark stuff, ya'll should take a look at my other series _Thrown into Perdition_ about Dean's time in hell. It'd be much appreciated. I love me some dark, twisted stories, but it's harder to get into the mood of writing it. I have ideas, but the words don't want to be written at the moment and I need some inspiration and encouragement that this is something ya'll would be interested in reading.

And I don't know if I need to put this for every chapter, but obviously I don't own Supernatural or it's gloriously complex characters. I just enjoy toying with them. :)

Warning for this chapter I guess? There's poop. They're kids, what did you expect, cleanliness? Also, I'm upping the rating for language. We all know if the show wasn't on the CW they'd be swearing up a storm. And Dean had to learn it from somewhere...

Also (very) minor spoilers for season 12. Like, very minor.

 **And now back to our regularly scheduled program**

Dean wrinkled his nose in utter disgust. "Ewwww! Mommy, Sammy farted." He took a whiff of air. "And it _stinks!_ "

Mary took one look at Sam's scrunched up face before sighing, "No, he's pooping." Sam may be the younger brother, but he certainly outdid Dean's stinkiest baby poops on a regular basis. "Wanna help me change him?" she practically pleaded.

Dean made a face. "I ain't goin' near that shit."

"Dean!" Mary gasped. "Don't say that word!"

"But Daddy says shit all the time," he argued.

"Well Daddy's in trouble, and so are you if you say it again." _Damnit John, I_ told _you he'd pick up on your swearing_ , she thought to herself.

"I'm sorry, Mommy. Please don't get Daddy in trouble, I won't do it again, promise." His voice was so earnest and his face _so damn cute_ and concerned Mary almost relented.

"Only if you help me change Sam's diaper," she compromised for now. She wouldn't let Dean know, but she would have a talk with her husband. If John decided to turn it into an argument that was his decision.

"Okay Mommy, but Sammy's poops are pretty gross," said Dean.

"Ha, I know. Trust me, I know. That's why I can't do this alone." Mary always made sure Dean felt included and important in even the simplest tasks. She hadn't been neglected per say growing up a hunter, but she wasn't showered with affection the way Sam and Dean were.

Dean took a deep breath and held it. He handed his mother a wipe as she peeled off Sam's dirty diaper. Mary was making faces at the god-awful smell as Sam smiled up at her. Sam was enjoying this way too much. She looked over to Dean for another wipe and noticed he was still holding his breath. She squeezed his puffed up cheeks gently and he let the air out loudly. "You gotta breath sometime, baby." Dean crinkled his nose as the smell hit him once more.

She surveyed Sam again. It was a hopeless cause. "I think we'd better just give him a bath," she suggested. Dean nodded and went off to get the supplies needed.

Despite his complaints, Dean loved helping his parents with Sam; it made him feel all grown up. As a side effect to all the attention Dean gave him, sometimes Sam would only be consoled in the presence of his big brother. Dean didn't mind though. If Sam was happy, so was he. And if they were happy, most of the time his parents were happy too. Most of the time.

He had pulled up a chair by the sink and gently helping his mom scrub Sam's rolls when his dad walked through the front door. He bounded off the chair and into his father's arms, crying out his usual greeting of, "Daddy!"

"Hey, buddy," he said, ruffling his hair. And then the smell of the diaper yet to be disposed of hit his nose. "Holy shit, what is that smell?" Dean stiffened in his arms. Mary was about ready to start a fight right then and there, but decided against.

"That would be this one's fault," she said, drying off Sam. "Dean, why don't you tell Daddy what you learned today about the bad word he just used?"

John rolled his eyes but looked at his son while he explained. "Mommy said we're in trouble if we say it."

"Oh really, now?" he said, setting Dean down. "Hey, bud, why don't you go play in your room for a little bit? I want to talk to Mommy."

"Oh... okay," he said sadly, shuffling towards the stairs. He paused. "Daddy? I'm sorry I got you in trouble."

John smiled. "Don't you worry about a thing, kid. Now get," he said, ushering him away with his hand. Dean rushed up the stairs, stopping when he was out of view so he could hear their conversation.

"Look, Mary," he heard his father say. "I don't want to fight."

His mother sighed. "I don't either John. But we talked about this. Dean's smart. He picks up on everything we say, even when we think he's not listening. I know it's not a big deal if he swears every once in awhile, but we have to be the ones to set the example."

Dean could hear his little brother cooing and giggling. He got to be a part of his parents' conversation, why couldn't Dean? He crept slowly down the stairs so he could hear better.

"You could at least give me credit for trying. You know I've been doing better lately," his father had retorted. "And I've been trying to be here more, haven't even gone out drinking with Mike since last week."

John was referring to his business partner and friend, Mike. They co-owned the auto shop where his dad was a mechanic. Dean liked Mike, he was funny, but he wasn't so sure if his mother did sometimes. Dean chanced a peak around the corner so he could see everything.

"Yeah, well, I appreciate that, but every time you go out with him, you miss out on reading a bedtime story to Dean, and he refuses to fall asleep until maybe two or three in the morning when he can't physically stay awake anymore. And then you know Sam's not sleeping through the night yet. I'm home all day with them, and you're not even here sometimes to help with him at night." She rubbed her forehead. "I'm sorry, John. I'm just tired." This conversation wasn't going at all like she planned.

"Well I'm tired too, Mary," his voice was starting to raise. "I work all day, and sometimes I just want to go out and have a drink with some friends. Dean's gotta learn to fall asleep by himself sometime, kid's four-years-old already. It's not like I haven't sacrificed my free-time before for them. There was that wedding last week, and that one time when Dean was a baby and you were gone for a few weeks helping your aunt, and he got sick and I had no idea what the hell to do."

A pang of guilt struck Mary. "You never told me that." She hadn't been helping her aunt at all. She'd found out there was a werewolf in Lawrence. A werewolf in the same city as her baby. She had to track it down and kill it, she had to keep Dean safe. The trail had lead all the way to Canada, but she'd succeeded, and saved another child's life in the process. But now she found out her baby hadn't been safe, he'd been sick.

"Yeah, well, I handled it. So if you could get off my ass, that'd be great." John swung around and left the house, door slamming behind him.

Mary sunk to the ground, clutching Sam to her chest, tears welling up in her eyes. How had it come to this? She and John couldn't even hold a conversation without it ending in him leaving. And suddenly Dean was next to her, his arms wrapped around her neck, his face pressed to hers. "I'm sorry, baby," she whispered, choking down a sob. Sorry she'd left him to hunt, sorry she and John were fighting, sorry she couldn't be strong enough for him.

Dean shook his head. "No, Mommy, I'm sorry. You got in a fight 'cause of me."

She looked into her little boys eyes. How could he possibly blame himself? "Don't you ever do that, Dean. It's not your fault Mommy and Daddy fight. You're my perfect little angel. Promise me you won't blame yourself."

Dean still looked unsure. He pat Sam's head as he thought. "Only if you promise not ta blame yourself either."

Mary smiled, her heart filled with love. "Promise." She stood up, wiping away her tears with one hand and readjusting Sam on her hip with the other. "What do you want for dinner, sweetie? Pick whatever you want and I'll go get it for us, just me, you and Sammy."

Dean's smile lit up the room as an idea popped in his head, the moments that had occurred seconds before quickly fading. "Pie!" he declared. His mother laughed.

"Actual food, Dean."

He pursed his lips as he thought. "Cheese burger?"

"Deal. Go get your shoes on and we'll make a quick run to the store." As he ran off to do so, Sam reached out and pet his mother's cheek lightly, still somehow sensing her hurt. "I'll never leave my babies again," she whispered, kissing his forehead. Her life and her relationship with her husband might not be perfect, but her kids sure were.


	6. American Pie: 6

**God Bless America**

 **Author's** **Note:** Happy Thanksgiving! I'm not past Mary's death yet so I can't write an appropriately themed chapter, so I'll settle for another holiday. :)

Work can't stop me from writing! It's actually a great stress reliever, so yay me. :)

Fun fact, the little scene between Dean and Julie during the fireworks actually happened between me and my boyfriend's niece. Best 4th of July ever. :)

These aren't OCs (except Jay), by the way. I don't remember if anyone's mentioned in the actual series, but the characters I use are in John Winchester's Journal by Alex Irvine.

Some language in this chapter, and probably in chapters following.

 **Shout-out** to all my lovely reviewers. Temperamental18, you're awesome, plain and simple. And to all my reviewers saying this story has made them tear up, evil laughter, mission accomplished! Sorry. (I'm so not sorry.) :)

 **Back to the story at hand.**

The Winchesters were an all-American family: born and raised in the mid-west, a two story house in the heart if Kansas, a classic American car, and two kids. Both parents had kicked evil's ass to protect their country. The father had served as a Marine, the mother had served as a hunter. Nothing said fun times for this family quite like the Fourth of July.

They'd invited over some friends and family to celebrate the day, barbecuing up some hamburgers and hot dogs and clinking beer bottles to set the night off. John was chatting up his business partner and friend Mike by the barbecue while his wife Kate and mutual friend Julie watched their kids run around. Sam sat snuggled in his mother's arms, snoring peacefully. Dean was chasing Mike and Kate's three-year-old daughter Jay through the sprinklers, cooling them off from the hot Kansas sun that was beginning to set. Julie, though single and childless, was by no means the odd one out. Dean absolutely adored her and was the only one he trusted to watch him and his brother when his parents needed a night off. He ran up to her now, soaking wet.

"Julie! Julie!" he exclaimed, tugging at her hand. "Come see what me 'n Jay found." Knowing Dean, it was probably some interestingly patterned caterpillar. Julie smiled back at Mary and Kate as she was dragged off to her adventure.

Mike watched as Dean walked off, Julie in tow. "You know your kid's bow-legged, right?" he said to John, who turned to observe his son.

"Huh. Guess he is," he shrugged.

Mike gave him a serious look. "He eating enough food? Heard somewhere that kids get like that when they don't get enough nutrients."

That startled John. "Huh," he said again. Dean could be a picky eater at times, but he ate. Right? He was starting to second guess himself. "Watch the grill for a sec, I'll be right back." He walked up to Mary, interrupting her conversation with Kate. "Hey, uh, can I talk to you for a sec?"

Mary was alarmed by his worried face. "Sure, honey," she said, passing a sleeping Sam to Kate as she stood up. John and Mary walked inside to the kitchen, out of earshot from their guests.

"What's wrong, John?" Mary pressed.

"Dean's bow-legged," he said simply.

Mary furrowed her brow in confusion. "Yeah, obviously. Are you seriously just now noticing?" She went from worried to annoyed in two seconds flat.

John shifted uncomfortably. "Is he... does he eat ok? Are we feeding him good enough?"

"Seriously. John, seriously." John's look told her he was, in fact, very serious. "I think I'd know if my son wasn't eating enough, thank you very much." _Someone has to notice, because you clearly don't,_ she thought bitterly.

John sighed in frustration. "That's not what a meant Mary," he said, brushing his hand over her arm. "I mean... should we take him to the doctor to make sure nothing else is causing it?"

"You're fucking kidding me, right?" Now she was just pissed. "I _told_ you the day I took him and the doctor said we just have to keep an eye on him for now. Do you listen to a word I say?"

 _Well, shit._ John just felt stupid for letting Mike work him up like that, and now he was in a fight again with his wife. "I'm sorry, Mary. Really. I'm just so... I'm just so goddamn tired all the time. I think I need-" but he was cut off as Dean ran up to them.

"Mommy, Daddy, look what I found!" he said, proudly showing off a green caterpillar with black speckles. Well, he hadn't _technically_ found it, Jay had. But it was his house, and Jay was too afraid to touch it, so it was his now.

Mary squatted down to Dean's level to inspect his prize. "Wow, sweetie. Very pretty. Are you going to set it free or do you want to keep it?" They had a little bug-home setup they let Dean keep a non-dangerous insect in every once in awhile.

"I'm gonna keep him forever and ever," he declared. The poor bastard would be dead in a few days. "His name is Clark." As in Clark Kent, of course.

"Food's ready!" Mike called out as the others moved to gather around the barbecue. John started to leave as Mary glared. Stupid, clueless John.

"Let's get Clark set up and then wash your hands so we can go eat," she instructed Dean, who handed her Clark as he went to fetch the insect's new home from his room. She inspected the little fellow as he inched up her hand, sighing at his life that would undoubtedly be cut short. At least she didn't have to worry about that for her own family, having escaped the life that was equal parts hunting and being hunted.

...

Mary kept throwing John sidelong glances as she prepared Dean's burger, adding extra tomatoes and lettuce for John's benefit. Then again when Dean bit down eagerly into it. Then once more when Dean leaned against his mother after finishing up the burger _and_ a handful of fries and declaring himself full as an equally full Sam bounced happily in her lap. She wondered silently how he'd kept both kids alive and unscathed for the weekend she'd been gone for the wedding. Well, _mostly_ unscathed. Dean's voice had been hoarse and Sam had a diaper rash that took a few days to clear up.

John cleared his throat as everyone finished up, raising his beer. "Thanks everyone for coming over. Thanks especially to my wife, Mary," Her head perked up at the mention of her name. "Without whom I would be lost." She stared blankly at him. Was he trying to make up for earlier? "I served my country, and I'm proud of that, but it wasn't easy coming home after seeing the crap I saw. Mary saved me, in every sense of the word, and has been putting up with my dumbass for over ten years now, so thank you, Mary. Tonight never would have been possible without you." He raised his beer a little higher then took a sip.

"To Mary!" cheered the others.

"To Mommy!" said Dean as he downed his apple juice.

Mary blushed. All was forgiven in an instant. Hell, she might even give Sam and Dean a new sibling. _No,_ she slowed herself, alarmed at her thoughts. _It's only been two months since you had Sam. Calm down._ Sam cooed and reached up to pat Mary's face in agreeance.

...

They all huddled on blankets on the front lawn as they prepared for the city fireworks to start. Mary had placed earmuffs over Sam's delicate ears, not wanted to damage them or scare him with the sounds of fireworks and he was cuddled up against her shoulder. John was sitting back against the tree next to her, rubbing her back and making facing at a giggling Sam. Dean was sitting criss-cross next to Julie, eagerly awaiting the start of the show. Mary smiled at how close the two were and the conversation they were having.

"Julie?" Dean asked.

"What?" Julie replied.

"I love you," he said softly.

"I love you too, Dean."

Dean sighed contently. Then he looked back up at Julie. "Julie?" he questioned again.

"What?"

"I love you," he repeated.

"I love you too, Dean," her smile ten times brighter than before.

"Julie?" he said once again. He repeated the same conversation with her at least twenty times before shifting over to sprawl across his mother's leg as the fireworks started.

The bright lights danced across his eyes as the fireworks lit up the sky. The loud boom that followed was a little scary, but he knew he was safe with his family and friends, even calming down Jay when she got anxious.

It had been a wonderful Fourth of July for the Winchester family.

And it would be the last holiday the family would celebrate together.


	7. American Pie: 7

**I Do What I Want!**

 **Author's Note:** It's my birthday (or it was yesterday), and I'll write depressing fanfiction if I want to.

...

It was midnight, and Sam couldn't sleep. How could he, with all the commotion? John wasn't home yet, so Dean _wouldn't_ sleep. Mary could've read him ten of the best bedtime stories ever in a row and it wouldn't have made a difference. He'd been upset that his father had forgotten about the only thing Dean requested of his father and had worked himself up to believe that Daddy must not love him anymore and become inconsolable. Then, as he fought the tiredness creeping all around him, all reasoning had collapsed and he'd pushed away the mother that had been rubbing his back, her gentle words no longer enough. His poor Chevy Corvette Hot Wheels car was thrown harshly against the wall in anger.

Could Mary blame him, really? Sure, she needed to find a better outlet for Dean to vent his anger, but he had every right to be upset, especially at his tender young age. She'd had to lie to her son about why Daddy wasn't there. John was making her lie to her little boy to protect them both. The more upset her son got, the closer Mary matched Dean's level of frustration.

"Dean, sweetie, you have to calm down," she encouraged, wanting to throw something herself.

"No Mommy!" he shouted, his favorite stuffed animal next to receive abuse. "I didn't do anything bad, and Daddy's still not here."

"Dean, please," she pleaded.

"NO!" he shrieked. Why should he? He'd been good all day and what did that get him? Nothing, that's what. His dad hadn't come home yet, Sam was starting to cry, and his mother was on the verge of tears. Everything was so overwhelming. Why be good when it got him nothing but pain? The tears flowed freely as he started violently throwing everything in sight. His mother came up behind him to hold him tight to stop him from hurting himself, but he fought her furiously, hands and legs randomly hitting and kicking any part of her he could.

"Dean, stop!" Mary panted. This was getting out of hand. Throwing things was one thing, hitting his mother was another. "Dean, you need to stop now."

"No, Mommy, you don't tell me what to do!" And with that he escaped his mother's grasp, running as fast as he could to the bathroom and locking the door behind him.

Luckily, picking locks was part of Mary's skill sets. She retrieved a bobby pin from her hair and went to work on the door handle, thankful that she was only hearing Dean whimpering and not tossing things around. Just then, as the lock gave way, mother and son heard another door click open. Dean shot past her as she swung the door open, unable to catch him as he ran down the stairs the greet his father.

The moment John arrived home, Dean was there to begin his assault. He began punching at his legs and stomach in a blind rage. Mary rushed downstairs.

"What the fuck is this!" demanded John as he attempted to fend off Dean.

"Where have you been?" she argued, not even trying to stop Dean's well-deserved tyrade against his father. She could smell the whiskey from where she stoodstood several feet away. "Nevermind, I already know."

Dean relented his physical assault so he could begin a verbal one. "I hate you, Dad! I hate you!" Dean was shouting. "Why weren't you here? I want you here!"

"Dean, stop!" John slurred. "Daddy had some stuff to take care of."

Dean wasn't buying it anymore. "No!" He slapped his father's thigh. "You're lying, and you made Mommy lie to me."

"I didn't-" he began.

"Ugh!" Dean cried as a hard punch landed in his father's stomach. What happened next was one of the worst moments of John Winchester's life, and one he would barely remember. Mary saw it coming and rushed forward as fast as she could to save her son, but not fast enough. John raised his hand and came down sharply on Dean's cheek, knocking him to the floor.

Dean's crying stopped immediately, too shocked from the blow to do anything but lay there and cover his cheek with his little hand.

"Get out!" shouted Mary. John's face bore surprise over his actions as well, but he wasn't getting out of this that easy. "How dare you touch my son. How _dare_ you!?" She swung the door open and shoved him out. "Come back anytime soon and I'm calling the cops," she spat, slamming the door in his face.

She spun around to tend to Dean, who was trying so hard not to cry, his bottom lip quivering in a pout. Her perfect, brave little boy, standing up to his own father and calling him on his bullshit. He ran to her arms as she bent down, hand still grasping his reddened cheek as he broke down. Mary somehow found strength, pushing back her own tears as she pressed her son tightly against her. "You're okay, baby," she whispered soothingly in his ear. "Shh, you're okay, you're okay. Such a brave little boy."

"It hurts," he whimpered.

"Shh I know baby, I know. Let Mommy take a look at it, okay?" She lightly pushed Dean back, gently prying his hand away from his face so she could inspect the damage. No skin was broken, thank God, but it was already starting to bruise. She debated getting the authorities involved, but she knew she could handle John when he came back, if she let him come back. She'd worry about being pissed at John later. Right now, Dean needed her full attention. She gently wiped away the tears falling down his cheeks.

"I'm sorry, Mommy," he whispered.

Mary's heart broke. "No, baby, don't be sorry. Daddy's the one who should be sorry. You didn't do anything. You're my little angel, remember?"

Dean shrugged, unsure if he believed her.

Mary nearly broke down. Her sweet, sweet boy, already so unsure of his own goodness, his own self-worth. She pulled him in for another hug, and he nestled his face in her neck, ignoring the stinging in his cheek. "I love you so much, love," she comforted. "You're my brave, perfect little angel. Promise me you won't blame yourself?"

Dean was starting to calm down. "Okay, Mommy. I promise." He stood up, suddenly aware of Sam's cries. "I think Sammy's hungry."

 _And he's so selfless too. How'd I get blessed with such perfection?_ thought Mary. She smiled. "Want to help me feed him?"

Dean nodded in response, his tears starting to dry.

"You want to sleep in Mommy's bed tonight?" she offered. It'd been years since she'd allowed that, but she figured tonight was as good a night as any for an exception.

He nodded again, a little smile finally showing itself.

...

John paced inside his motel room, the liquor starting to wear off as he relived the horrible act he'd just committed. _I just hit my son._ His chest ached with guilt. How could he have let himself get that far? Sure, Dean was a little spoiled, but he didn't deserve _that_. Only drunken assholes hit their kids. "Shit," he swore. He _was_ that drunken asshole. There was no fixing this, not for awhile at least. Maybe it was for the best though. On Fourth of July, he'd almost been able to tell Mary he needed a break, but had been interrupted. Now he'd gotten what he'd wanted.

"Shit," he said again. Not like this though, never like this. On his own terms, with an understanding Mary patiently awaiting his return. Not as the man who'd just hurt her four-year-old son. His son. How could he face Dean when he returned, if Mary let him return? He wiped his hand over his eyes before tears could fall.

He had no excuse, really. He and Mary had waited until they were financially and emotionally stable before having Dean, it wasn't like they'd rushed into things. Everything was planned, they knew to expect less freedom as spouses, as parents. Even so, sometimes John just wanted to do his own thing, away from his family. Well, now was his chance. But he wasn't going to use this time to get drunk with friends. No. He was better than that, better than what his actions tonight said otherwise. He could change. He _would_ change. He wouldn't go back home until his head was on straight and he became the man his family needed him to be. The husband and father Mary, Sam, and Dean deserved.

...

While Dean watched Sam for a few moments, waiting on their parent's bed, Mary moved Sam's crib into her bedroom for the time being, both for convenience and comfort.

Dean pet Sam's hair as Mary nursed him, all three of them calmed by the quiet simpleness of it all. Dean drifted blissfully off to sleep as she set a sleeping Sam down in his crib. She cuddled up next to Dean, quickly falling into a deep sleep.

When she awoke a few hours later to Sam needing to be fed again, the spot next to her on the bed was empty. She switched in the lamp next to her bed, panicing. Where was Dean?

"Mommy, I think Sammy's hungry again," said a little voice coming from Sam's crib. She bent over the crib to find Dean curled around his brother, squinting up at her. She lifted Dean out of the crib, placing him on her bed before taking Sam in her arms, repeating the same process they'd been through a couple hours earlier.

...

A few weeks later (what Dean would later remember as a few days), Mary would be cutting off the crust of a sandwich when John would finally call. After an upsetting conversation with her husband who still hadn't come home, Dean, ever aware of his mother's feelings, would go to comfort her.

True to his "I wuv hugz" T-shirt, Dean would wrap his arms around her legs. "It's okay, Mom," he'd say, having grown up a little in that short time and starting to call Mary _Mom_ instead of _Mommy_. "Dad still loves you. I love you too. I'll never leave you."

Mary would cup his healed cheek in her hand. "You," she'd say, "are my little angel." She'd follow this with an offer for pie. This moment would become one that Dean would hold onto as a favorite memory of his, replaying it during his time in heaven many years later, the encounter that brought it on either repressed or forgotten.

 **Author's Note:** I swear there will be a purely happy chapter again sometime. Eventually. Maybe.

Also, side note for real life on a very serious note, if there's any sort of abuse going on in your household, don't hesitate to act. Call the cops, do what you have to do, but don't let the situation continue.


	8. American Pie: 8

**Take A Sad Song And Make It Better**

 ** _Hey, Jude -_ The Beatles**

John swore up and down he was a changed man. Finally, after three weeks away, he'd called Mary asking for permission to return home tonight. _Only if Dean's okay with it,_ was the condition. So she waited with Sam while Dean was at his play date with Jay. Kate and Julie had been incredibly supportive, though she hadn't told them the whole story behind why her husband was gone and her son bruised. She'd made up something, lying was another skill she'd picked up as a hunter. Mary wasn't quite sure if how she'd handled everything had been the right way, however. Should she have called the cops, had John hauled away to jail? She'd second guessed every single decision she'd made since that night. There was no way to justify her actions, and certainly not his, not when it was their son who had suffered. So, feeling like a coward and a complete failure as a mother, she left it up to her four-year-old to decide whether or not to forgive his father, to forgive her. Dean seemed okay, but the kid had more emotional depth than most adults she knew, so it was hard to tell.

Sam, seemingly sensing his mother's unease, pawed at her white blouse, drawing her attention to him. She smiled down at him. "Who's my little angel?" she murmured lovingly, gliding her fingers across the rolls of his stomach. He giggled and squirmed in response.

When she'd first given birth to Dean, she marveled at how much she could love the tiny, helpless child. A hole she didn't know had been missing had been filled in her heart. When she gave birth to Sam, her heart simply grew to accommodate that same love for him. Sam couldn't even talk yet, much less do anything other than giggle, poop, cry, eat, and sleep, but somehow Mary felt a sort of comfort she couldn't explain when she held him in her arms. And Dean, Dean was still so young, but an unending light of goodness that Mary couldn't help but be in awe of. They deserved more than she could ever hope to give them, and she needed John to see that, if Dean allowed him to come home.

Sam was looking up at her, his eyes sparkling in curiousity as he reached to pull her lip. She wondered as she pressed her lips down on his tiny fingers whether his eyes would change color as he got older. For now, the edges were a soft, light blue, slowly shifting to a subtle grey around his pupils. Dean had been born with the bluest, most beautiful eyes she'd ever seen, and they'd soon changed to a green of varying shades and dimensions, depending on the lighting. Sometimes they were a mezmoring emerald green, thinly rimmed with an even deeper green. Other times, a greyish blue hue circled around a hazel green flashed with gold. If her kids were to ever sit still for long enough, she was sure she could sit for hours just staring into their innocent beauty.

Sam pulled her out of her trance, giggling as he tugged harder at her lip. She smiled around his fingers as she walked them over to the carpeted living room, gently setting him down on his tummy, laying herself down in front of him. She sighed happily as he surveyed his surroundings, moving his head side to side until his eyes met his mother's, and he broke into a wide smile once again. "Come on, roll over for Mommy. You can do it," she encouraged. He made little grunting noises as he attempted to rock himself onto his back. Just then the doorbell rang, and Mary imitated the surprised little "o" that Sam's lips made. "You stay right there, mister," she stated, lifting herself up and towards the door.

"Hi Mom!" Dean greeted as he stood on tip-toes as Mary bent down for a kiss. Formalities over, he stripped off his plaid button up, tossing it aside to reveal a well-loved tee that read "Best Big Brother," already looking around for Sam.

"I hope you were a good boy today, Dean," she said half to her son, half to Kate, who was hanging in the doorway, her daughter clinging around her knees.

"He fixed my owwie," answered Jay, swinging her arm up to reveal a Minnie Mouse Band-Aid slapped haphazardly onto what was probably the tiniest of cuts.

"There you are, Sammy!" Mary heard Dean proclaim from inside, knowing she could leave her baby in Dean's care for a few minutes while she talked to Kate.

"Well, that was very nice of him," she replied to Jay. "Does it feel better now?" The little girl nodded enthusiastically.

"Only took about a gallon of tears," Kate commented, smiling warmly at her daughter. "Oh!" She exclaimed, pulling a piece of paper from behind her back. "Dean drew this for you today." She hesitated for a moment, her smiling fading a little bit as she handed it to Mary. "You know I don't like to pry, but is everything okay? With John, I mean?" she asked for probably the one hundredth time since John had left.

Mary resisted the urge to roll her eyes as she glanced down at the picture. Messy as the four-year-olds scribbles were, she could distinguish four characters: one blonde woman in a purple dress holding a tiny baby with a mess of hair in one arm, while her other hand held a small boy's who had two green dots for eyes. A little further, Mary was sure of it, he'd drawn his dark haired, dark eyed father.

"He's always talking about him, you know," said Kate.

"What's he say" she asked, trying to remain calm but wondering how much of that night Dean had revealed. Dean hadn't even mentioned John to her since he'd left.

"Just how much he misses him," she shrugged. "He really misses him, Mary. Now, I don't know what happened, but maybe you could... forgive him? For Dean's sake?"

 _It's not up to me,_ she thought. "I'll think about it," she said instead. After saying goodbye, she shut the door and leaned against it. She hadn't allowed herself to admit it, but she missed John too. She couldn't be upset with Dean for not sharing his feelings about his father with her when she was bottling them up herself.

"Almost there, Sammy!" she heard Dean squeak, and she walked around the couch to watch the progress, just in time to see Sam successfully roll onto his back. "Good job!" Dean praised, kissing his brother on the top of his head, then sat criss-cross. Mary knelt down to help Dean lift his brother onto his lap, a reward her son had come up with to give Sam whenever he successfully rolled over. Sam was all smiles, his dimples digging into his chubby cheeks as he gazed adoringly at his older brother.

Mary brushed her fingers through Dean's blonde hair, thinking how he should probably get a haircut soon before it covered his eyes completely. She set the picture he'd drawn in front of him. "Do you want Daddy to come home?" she asked softly. Dean paused for a moment, frowning, then handed Sam over to his mother, curling his knees to his chin. Mary took Sam in one arm, using the other to rub Dean's back. "You can say yes, I won't be mad. Or you can say no, love. It's up to you."

Dean just shrugged. After another minute to consider, he slowly nodded _yes_ , wiping a stray tear away with the back of his hand. Mary sighed, whether from relief or anxiety she couldn't tell.

...

Dean stood silently by the door, anxiously awaiting the return of a long-absent father, hands held together in front of him as he rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. He hadn't decided whether he would cry when his father walked through the front door or run into his arms. All he knew is he couldn't be mad at him, not after what had happened last time.

He sighed impatiently as the seconds passed, only to inhale sharply when he heard the familiar click of the door unlocking. His mother leaned in the doorway between the living and front room, and the kitchen, ensuring she could keep an eye on both him and his younger brother waiting just as impatiently in his high chair. The door creaked open, revealing his father, wearing the old leather jacket had once been accustomed to burying his face into, his face shadowed in uncertainty, covered in a thick. dark stuble.

"Hey, Dean," John said softly, almost shyly.

"Hi Dad," Dean said simply, squeezing the jean-clad pant leg of his father before quickly releasing and taking a small step back.

 _Dad?_ John mouthed to Mary, the moniker too foreign, too _mature_ coming from his toddler's mouth.

"You missed a lot of things while you were gone," she explained.

John sighed sadly, lowering himself to Dean's level. "Hey," he said quietly, taking his son's face in his hand, grateful when he didn't pull away, but rather sank into it. "I'm sorry Daddy had to go away for awhile. But I'm back now, okay? And I'm sorry for what I did to you. I'm so sorry Dean."

"Where were you?" his little boy's eyes were brimmed with tears. "Were you in time-out?" It was the only explanation that made sense to Dean.

John nodded. "Yeah... yeah I guess I was." He gently rubbed away a tear that slipped down Dean's face. "But I learned my lesson, just like you do when you have a time-out. And it won't happen again."

"Promise?" he pleaded earnestly.

John allowed a small smile to show through. "Cross my heart."

Dean leaned forward for another hug, finally able to breath in the leathery smell of his jacket, tucking his face in his father's neck. John sighed happily as he pulled his son as close to him as he possibly could, grateful for forgiveness. He heard Sam babbling from the kitchen and scooped Dean up so he could greet his other son. "Hi, Mary," he said while passing his wife, who permitted a kiss on the cheek. They'd figure out exactly where they stood with each other later when the kids were asleep.

Sam screeched and reached out with grabby hands as he recognized his father walking towards him. John set Dean down on the table briefly, only to pick him back up moments later after tucking Sam against his shoulder. "I missed you boys," he said, kissing the tops of their heads. "Thank you for letting me come back." Dean snuggled into his father once again, mumbling a soft _I love you_ into his jacket. John glanced up at Mary, his eyes watering ever so slightly. _Thank you,_ he mouthed towards her, but he meant so much by it. Thank you for letting me come back, thank you for giving me these two boys, thank you for letting me be a part of this beautiful family.

...

At bedtime, John took on the task of putting _both_ boys to sleep. Little Sammy, eyes dropping as he leaned into his father, was no contest for the sleep surrounded him.

Dean, however, proved a little more difficult, having gotten used to the routine him and Mary had set up. Short stories weren't lulling him to sleep; it was time to break out the big kid books to better captivate Dean. So John told a tale of a mild-mannered hobbit who went on the adventure of a lifetime. It worked, Dean hooked on every word, desperately trying to keep sleep at bay. Some words and sentences were too big for him, but he liked that. It was a challenge he could learn from and conquer. John bent the well-worn corner of the page, bookmarking it for later and set the book on the nightstand. "Will you read me another chapter tomorrow, Dad?" he asked sleepily.

John smiled. "And another chapter the next night, and the night after that," he promised. After hugs and kisses goodnight, John lifted himself off the bed, handing the reigns over to Mary. He stood in the doorway, waiting to enjoy Mary's lullaby as much as their son. She pulled down the Batman pajama shirt that was beginning to ride up his back before tucking Dean into his similarly themed comforter.

"Hey, Jude," she started singing softly, brushing his thick, sandy bangs out of his face. "don't make it bad. Take a sad song and make it better. Remember to let her into your heart, then you can start to make it better." Dean sighed contently, allowing sleep to gently sweep over him. In the doorway, John couldn't stop smiling and shaking his head, wondering silently how he'd ever been able to hurt them.

"Hey Jude," Mary been the next verse. By the time she got to, "Don't carry the world upon your shoulders," Dean was deep in sleep, curled up into a little ball. Slowly, so as not to disturb him, she backed off the bed and towards John, allowing him to envelop her in his arms. They were a family again.


	9. American Pie: 9

**Cure For The Summertime Blues**

 ** _Summertime Blues_ \- Eddie Cochran**

Dean was soaked head to toe in water and suds, the yellow of the Star Wars logo on the now dark grey t-shirt standing out in bright contrast. He reached as far as his little arms would let him, standing on tippy-toes on a stool as he tried to scrub as close to the center of the windshield of his father's car with a large yellow sponge as he possibly could. He loved his father's car; he'd missed her when his dad had been gone. There was just something so comforting about the 1967 Chevy Impala. He loved the way the black paint sparkled just now as he helped his dad clean it, the defined edges seemingly daring someone to mess with her. Loved gliding his hands over the ridges of the black leather seats during long car rides. Loved the loving looks his parents gave each other as his father placed his hand on the seat behind her. Loved watching Sam sleep peacefully next to him. Love. It was a concept he was beginning to grasp, more than just something he said to anyone or anything because he _liked_ them. He loved his Mom. He loved his Dad. He loved his baby brother the most. But he definitely loved this car.

"Whatcha thinkin' about, bud?" his dad said, pulling him out of his thoughts as he stood over Dean to reach the spots on the windshield his son couldn't.

Dean shrugged. "Just happy I guess," he said with a little smile. It'd been good since his dad had come back. Really good. He'd never seen his mom smile so much since she'd taken to trusting him again.

His dad ruffled his ever-growing hair. "What do you say we take your mom and brother on a little road trip after we finish here."

Dean titled his head, squinting in the sun as he turned to face his dad. "Where to?"

"Wherever you want," he responded with a warm smile.

He leapt off the stool, beginning his work again at the door driver door panel. "Hmm..." he hummed, searching for an answer.

"Within reason," his dad added, knowing the extent of Dean's creativity.

"I wanna go to the beach," he decided. "I've never been." He turned to his father as his eyes widened. "My friend Tom told me that there's sharks there and they eat people!"

"Woah! Okay, well I can't promise you that much fun, but yeah, the beach sounds good, kid." He nodded towards the house. "You just gotta convince your mom."

"How'm I gonna do that?" he inquired. It was tough getting his mom to do everything he wanted. He needed to know if he should pull out all the stops this time.

His dad grinned. "You're cute. Chicks dig cute."

The comment earned his father a very concerned look. "Mom's not a chicken!"

His dad gave a hearty laugh. "No, Dean!" he said between chuckles. "It means girls... women. Your mom. Oh, Lord, kid's really do say the darndest things," he said wiping a tear from his eye.

"Oh," Dean said, smiling but not quite getting it.

"Go on inside and ask your mom. I'll finish up here." Dean ran to deliver the message. "Change into something dry first!" his dad called after him.

Dean ran inside, past his mom and brother, and up the stairs to his room. He dug through his dresser drawer, carelessly tossing his other clothes aside until he found the desired "Mommy's Little Man" t-shirt and dark blue swim trunks. He couldn't read the words on the light blue shirt yet, but his Mom always smiled when he wore it. Now was as good a time as ever to put it to good use. She'd have to let them go to the beach after all the effort he was putting into this. He walked slowly down the stairs, not wanting to get yelled at for running and thereby ruining his chances.

"Hi Mommy!" he said with his best smile, hopping in front of her where she sat on the couch Sam in her arms. She jumped, having been scared by his sudden approach, hand placed over her heart as Sam gave his only little gasp of surprise.

"Oh! You scared me Dean!" she said. He just stood in front of her smiling, hands clasped behind his back and rocking side-to-side, showcasing the lettering on his shirt. She quickly caught on. "Okay, what do you want?" she asked with a smile.

"I wanna go to the beach!" he declared.

"Uh-huh," she said, eyeing the front door, figuring John had put the thought into his head. "And who gave you that idea?"

"I thought of it all by myself!" he said proudly, because technically, he had.

Mary squinted her eyes suspiciously as she asked, "What makes you think I'll say yes?"

"'Cause I'm cute!" he exclaimed without missing a beat. "And chicks dig cute."

She gave a hearty laugh, and Sam, in a very good mood today, imitated with his own high-pitched giggle. This was definitely John's doing. "Can't argue with that logic. Where are we gonna find a beach in the middle of Kansas, though sweetie?"

He blinked, not having thought it out this far. "Umm..."

"We could always go to one of the lakes around here." replied John, coming in from the front yard to save the day. "Perry Lake, or that new reservior, what's it called? Hillsdale? Or Clinton Lake's always close by."

"Clinton Lake sounds good," Mary said, now looking forward to a day out of the house. It was only 15 minutes out of town, with the way John drove. Nice and close by, especially with two kids in tow.

"Sound like a plan to me, huh kiddo?" John said, turning to Dean. Not exactly the road trip he'd been thinking of, but there were other things to consider in hindsight.

"Yeah!" Dean shouted, pumping his fist in the air.

...

The beach was fairly deserted, save for a few other families enjoying the warm summer weekend. Dean ran off in front of his family, John running after him and scooping him up so he could smother sun screen and the pale boy's skin. "You're gonna look like a lobster if you don't," his dad explained over his protests as he rubbed it into his freckled face.

"But I wanna look like a lobster! Then I can pinch you with my claws," he explained, pinching his dad's muscled arm.

"Yeah? Well then a shark will come get you and eat you up!" John grabbed Dean and mercilessly tickled him, pretending to bite him and blowing raspberries on his skin. Dean giggled helplessly as he tried to escape his grasp.

Mary smiled affectionately, adjusting Sam's bonnet so it better protected his chubby face from the sun. He blinked, eyes roaming the new surroundings until they settled on his brother and dad wrestling on the ground. He pushed forward against Mary's arms in an attempt to join the fun.

"Alright, alright," she to both the son struggling in her arms and the one squirming in his father's. "Let's get everything set up, then you can get eaten by sharks."

John got up slowly, out of breath. Sam stretched out towards his dad again, wanting to be held by him. As he took Sam in his arms, he pretended he was as heavy as an anvil, swooping him down swiftly, bringing a thrilled yell out of Sam, Dean gasping until he figured Sam was in safe hands and joined in the laughter. "You're getting so big, little man!" John commented to Sam. "I don't know how much longer I can carry you!" Sam knawed on his hand in response. Dean was reaching up at his side, imitating Sam and not wanting to give up his father's attention wholly to his brother, allowing himself to be needy around his father again. John consented with a fake sigh of exhaustion as he reached down to pick Dean up. He set him down shortly after, however, as they reached the sandy beach beyond the grassy surroundings, Dean wanting to feel the warm sand between his toes.

He looked back to check if it was okay before running off towards the shoreline, stopping at the water's edge and just barely letting the water lap at his feet. He tilted his head as something crawled by him, picking it up by the shell and observing the little limbs and claws that wiggled in the air. "I found a lobster!" he exclaimed, turning around to show his parents. "Oh!" he said, realizing his parents weren't right behind him and he was instead talking to a tall, tan, brunette girl in a pink bikini.

"That's not a lobster, that's a hermit crab," she laughed. She seemed friendly enough. And pretty.

"Oh," he said again, blushing. He had no idea there was such a thing as a hermit crab.

"What's your name, sweetie?" she asked, bending over to be more at his level.

"Dean, what's yours?" he asked.

"Rosa," she said with a smile. "Are your parents here?"

"Yeah, they're right there," he said pointing to a spot not far away where they were laying down towels. "You wanna meet my baby brother? He's almost as cute as I am!"

Her face light up from the pure charm of the kid. "I would love to!" She could see her friends beckoning in the distance. "But I gotta go. Say hi to him for me, will ya?" she said with another grin as she ran towards her friends.

Dean shrugged as he sauntered back towards his family. "You get her phone number?" his father joked.

"No," he said shaking his head, too young to understand the full meaning behind his words. "Her name's Rosa. She says hi, Sam," he to his baby brother, plopping down next to him where he was leaning against their mother. Sam slapped Dean's knee in response.

He suddenly remembered the real reasoned he'd walked back to his family. "Look what I found!" he said, holding up his prize. "It's a Hermin crab," he said knowledgeably.

"Hermit crab, babe," chuckled Mary. "And very cool. And no, you can't keep it." She didn't need another pet funeral so soon after Clark the caterpillar.

Dean pouted, but relented when his dad diverted, saying, "Let's build him a sand castle!"

Mary and Banner the hermit crab watched as they built a humble abode for the little fella. Dean's excitement got the better of him towards the end of the build, however, crying out "HULK SMASH!" before destroying everything they'd created. His father was patient with him though, Mary noted, playing into Dean's role play as he pretended to be knocked over by the force of the destruction. Another, far superior, castle was erected shortly after, Dean declaring it and the day the best ever.

After a couple more hours of John chasing Dean and Dean chasing John up and down the beach, collecting sea shells, and running away from the tiny waves the lake produced while Mary did her best to prevent Sam from eating sand, the family headed home. It was simple, calm days like this that Mary cherished. Today was definitely going in the journal she'd kept since her hunter days, now filled with stories of her children instead of the nightmares of others. Her little family was hers, and hers alone, and nothing, not demons, nor werewolves, nor occasionally absent husbands could change that.


	10. American Pie: 10

**I'm Forever Yours, Faithfully**

 ** _Faithfully_ \- Journey**

 **Author's Note:** A little stocking stuffer to all my readers. Merry Christmas!

It was during the rare, quiet moments like this one that Mary took the time to write an entry in the old, leather-bound journal she'd had since her youth. What used to be documentation of how to spot the difference between demon indicators and a death omen had been replaced by the irreplaceable joys of the havocs of motherhood. Placing down some photo tape, she pressed down the Polaroid she'd taken last weekend and titled it _John, Dean, and Sam with Banner Castle 2.0._

The moment ended shortly after as Dean wormed his way onto her lap. "What do you want?" she demanded playfully.

"Whatcha doin'?" he inquired, ignoring her question.

"None of your business, mister," she teased.

"What's your problem?" he shot back.

"You're creasing my dress," she retorted, gesturing to her red, satin attire.

"You're creasing my..." but his words faltered as he failed in his comeback, instead breaking into a wide grin. "Hey, that's Banner!" he exclaimed, pointing at the critter in the picture. "He was so cute," he sighed longingly. "But not a cute as you!" He bat his 1,000 watt smile at his mother.

"Yeah, but you're cuter," she responded, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear.

"Yeah I am," he agreed.

"And smart," Mary added.

"And funny."

"And in my way," she said, picking up her pen again.

"I wanna write my name," he declared, disrupting her again.

"Let's see it," she obliged, handing him the pen.

"D-," he said slowly, messily spelling out his name on the page opposite the picture. "E-," this letter taking a little longer to write, the four lines difficult to place correctly. "A-," he continued, drawing a simple mountain, squiggly line for the snow and everything. "N!" which turned out to be nothing more than a glorified scribble.

"Very good, ba-"

"S-," he interrupted with a sideways N. "A-," another snowy mountain. "M-," two mountains roughly connected together, without the snow. "M-" He had to continue the remainder of the name on the next line. "Y!" he said proudly as he wrote a V with a line down the middle.

Mary smiled. Of course he had to include Sam in this, like he did everything. "Julie should be here any minute," said a voice from the doorway, both of them turning to see John in a black suit. Mary's breath caught and heart fluttered at the site.

Dean smiled up at her and giggled. "I think Dad's the cutest," he commented, bringing back the earlier conversation.

"No, definitely you, kiddo," he said, walking over and planting a kiss on the top of Dean's head. Just then the doorbell rang, and Julie entered shortly after being prompted by John and Mary to come in.

"How my favorite little monster doing?" she smiled at Dean.

He looked up to his mother. "Why are you leaving me and Sammy?" he accused.

"Because Mommy and Daddy will go crazy if we don't." Dean pouted, but understood his mother was only playing. She lifted him off of her lap and onto the floor, getting up and adjusting her dress. "Be good for Julie, you like her, remember?"

"No, I _love_ her," he corrected.

"Darn right you do," Julie said, ruffling his hair.

"Sam's already asleep," Mary informed Julie. "Fed him thirty minutes ago, you know the drill. Call if you need anything. Thanks, love," she said, pecking her on the cheek.

Embracing both parents by their knees, Dean ushered them out the door. "Be good, don't stay out too late!" he called as they entered the car.

"Yes, sir!" John saluted as he backed out of the driveway.

Eight years ago on this day John and Mary had held a quiet ceremony in Reno, bonding the two of them together for life. Now they were headed to Marino's Diner, where they'd had their first official date three years before that. Their attire was far too fancy for a place like that, but it was as good a day as any to dress up. John insisted on opening Mary's door for her when they arrived, and again when they entered the diner. She blushed when John revealed he'd even reserved the same booth they'd been seated at all those years ago. As she looked through the menu, she happened to glance up at John, who's eyes were practically sparkling with admiration.

"What?" she asked, blushing again. God, she had such a school-girl crush on the handsome man before her.

"Do you remember what we ordered the first time?" he asked, taking her hands in his.

Mary grinned. Of course she did. "I had a grilled salmon with a cheap whatever white wine they had, you went the super classy route and had a cheeseburger with extra onions. Extra onions on a first date! I couldn't believe you," she laughed.

It was John's turn to blush. "Hey, I like what I like, and I wasn't gonna change that for some girl," he teased.

"Except I wasn't just some girl!"

"No," he said, rubbing circles on her hand with his calloused thumb. "You're _the_ girl."

"Stop it!" she laughed, lightly hitting his arm. "Don't get all sappy on me, John Winchester."

"What can get started for you folks today?" approached a young female waitress, notepad in hand.

John didn't take his eyes off his wife. "She'll have your best white wine with the grilled salmon, and I'll have a cheeseburger."

"Alrighty, sounds good!" the waitress replied.

"Oh!" he added before she could walk away. "Hold the onions. Thanks." She flashed a smile, but his gaze was already back to his wife.

"Wise choice," Mary said. "Trying to get lucky tonight?" she asked, raising her eyebrow.

John sat back and gestured to his outfit. "I'm wearing a suit, aren't I?"

Mary sighed longingly. "I don't want to keep Julie waiting..."

John had thought this out way in advance, immediately replying, "Already paid her extra, she'll be there all night. Already got a nice motel room for us too."

Mary titled her head back to laugh. "I guess we have to now, don't we?" John nodded enthusiastically.

After dinner, John surprised her with a drive out to the country, laying down a blanket on the vast plains as they gazed up at the starry night. There was no way they could wait until they got to the hotel, so they made sweet love in the back seat of Impala, where only the stars above could hear their cries of passion. Then again at the hotel, where the surrounding rooms, and probably floors could hear, but they didn't care. As John held his sleeping wife in his arms, he realized how truly blessed he was to have his beautiful wife who loved him in spite of his flaws and his two boys who were his world.


	11. American Pie: 11

**Spooky Scary Skeletons**

- **Andrew Gold**

 _There's a young man that I know,_ the radio played. Mary lifted her head up as she recognized the song. Someday Soon by Judy Collins. One of her favorites. She shifted Dean, holding him in one arm so she could turn up the volume. He protested with a soft moan before snuggling back into her shoulder, arms tucked to his chest. Mary brushed her hands through his hair, knowing that tomorrow she'd be dealing with a rambunctious, trouble seeking four-year-old, not a sick, cuddly one.

A few days ago Mary had awoken in the dead of night to Dean tugging at her arm, tears streaming down his face. His tummy hurt, and he'd thrown up all over his bed. The next couple of days were absolute agony for Dean with what turned out to be a 48 hour stomach bug. It hadn't been made better by his lack of contact with Sam, as Mary had enough on her hands dealing with one sick child, thank you very much. He was cranky and sick, and the massive, almost seismic tantrum he'd thrown did not help his road to recovery. But now, the worst had past, and he just needed a day to rest and cuddle with his mother.

"I would follow him right down the toughest road I know," Mary sang softly into his ear, adjusting his cape so it draped over her arm. It was Halloween, and while he'd lost the battle to go out trick or treating, he'd settled for wearing his costume (sans the mask) and helping his mom give out candy whenever someone who was braving the raging storm outside came to the door. "Someday soon, going with him someday soon," Mary cooed gently. She could have turned the radio station to a channel that was playing some sort of appropriately spooky tunes, but figured her favorites had a better chance of keeping Dean relaxed. She pulled one of his hands out from under him, holding it in her own as she began to two-step slowly around the kitchen with Dean as her partner. Feeling Dean smile ever so slightly into her shoulder, pressing his nose further into her, she started to sing again.

"So blow, you old blue northern, blow my love to me." Mary took their dance into the front room when she heard the door unlocking. John was home from work. "He's driving in tonight from California," was his greeting as she pressed a quick kiss on his lips.

"How's he doing," he asked, smiling at the beauty that was his wife, rubbing a comforting hand on Dean's back. Dean responded by twisting around and reaching for his father, who readily took him.

Mary shook her arms as the weigh was lifted from them. "Mostly tired and clingy. Wouldn't even let me put him down when I had to take care of Sam. I need a raise," she joked.

John chuckled, saying, "What would I do without you?"

"Oof, I don't even want to think about it." She tilted her head towards the stairs, her Mommy Radar triggered. "I think Sam's awake."

As she walked upstairs, she heard John ask Dean, "Who are you dressed up as?"

To which an exasperated Dean replied, "Batman, Dad. See the cape? And the bat sign?"

Sam was all smiles by the time she reached him, those adorable dimples sinking into his chubby cheeks as he reached his arms up towards her. "Hey, big guy, how was your nap?" she said, taking him in her arms and heading back downstairs. He gave an excited, grinning, "Ah!" in reply.

He gave another excited noise once they'd walked downstairs and he'd spotted his big brother lying on top of his dad on the couch.

"Sammy!" Dean called when he heard him, rolling over and reaching out so Mary could place him on top of him. "Oh, Sammy, I missed you so much," he said, patting the top of his head.

"You saw him an hour ago," Mary reminded him as John adjusted to accommodate having both boys piled on him. Dean ignored her as he sighed contently. Sam lifted himself off his tummy, giving a little _Oh!_ sound, his mouth rounded in curiousity. Dean giggled and resisted the urge to squirm as his brother's hands clenched and unclenched his shirt.

"I'm going to make some soup. You have fun with them," Mary laughed, kissing the top of John's head.

"There isn't anywhere else I'd rather be," he replied with a grin.

Mary glanced briefly down at the newspaper on the end table, reading again the headline that read, _Multiple Cattle Found Dead, Cause Unknown_. It had very much alarmed her at first, her hunter instinct instantly on red alert, but a quick call to her cousin who lived a city over assured her that he'd already looked into it, and there was nothing to worry about. Still, she felt uneasy as she began preparation for the only thing she knew how to make: tomato rice soup. Her mom had made it for her when she was sick, so Mary was at least passing on one family tradition. But as she measured the rice, she couldn't help but think that she was forgetting something. Not an ingredient, but something... else. She couldn't put her finger on it.

She was soon distracted by the task at hand, the radio playing softly in the background, and the joyful noises coming from the living room. Dean was making Sam, and by extent John, laugh uncontrollably. A few songs later, the soup was done and she was about to call her boys to dinner when the doorbell rang. Instantly she was on high alert again, before remembering it was Halloween and that some brave souls might be desparate enough for candy to risk the storm.

"I'll get it!" she called, turning the burner on low, walking over to the front door, and opening it. Her worrying had been unnecessary, as she was greeted by Mike, Kate, and little Jay when she opened the door. She invited them in out of the rain as Jay squeezed past her and skipped on over to where Dean was.

"Jay, at least say hi to Aunt Mary!" her mother insisted.

"Hi, Aun' Mare!" she called as she pounced full force onto John's face. Mary laughed at the nickname the little girl had taken to calling her, who'd been confused when calling her "Mommy" the way Dean did had earned her heart-felt laughter. So Aun' Mare and Unca John it was.

"I'd better go save John... and probably Sam," Mike surmised, and he made his way over to the couch.

Mary turned to Kate. "I'm surprised you're out trick or treating!"

"Oh, God no," she quickly assured. "We wanted to check on Dean. Let me know if Jay is too much for him and I'll reel her in."

Judging by the shrills of laughter coming from the other room, everything was a-okay. "Oh, he's much better. And he'll probably sleep through the night if she tires him out anyway. Poor kid's had a rough weekend."

"Well, we'll get out of your hair then, we just wanted to drop by. And by the smell of it, you guys are about to have dinner." She raised her hand before Mary could invite them to stay. "We already ate. Just have a nice, relaxing night with your family." And as soon as they'd came, they were gone. Once Kate had managed to pry Jay away from Dean, that is.

 _I've been walkin' these streets so long,_ the radio played as she served the soup. "Singin' the same old song," Mary joined in.

"Rhinestone Cowboy?" John teased. "Really, Mary?"

"You knew what song it was awful quick for someone who's trying to dispute the greatness of Glen Campbell," she shot back as she sat down to eat. She had barely lifted the spoon before Dean crawled onto her lap, milking every second of sick-clingyness there was left.

 _And nice guys get washed away like the snow and the rain,_ the song continued. Mary sighed. It was unlikely that between her two young boys and her overgrown one that she'd be having a warm meal tonight. _There's been a load of compromisin' on the road to my horizon._ Not that she often did anyway. Ah, the joys of motherhood. When Dean insisted that Mary feed him "like she fed Sam" her fate to a cold meal was assured. John rolled his eyes at Dean, but laughed it off. The tiredness in Mary's eyes told him he'd be in charge of bedtime tonight. _But I'm gonna be where the lights are shinin' on me_. By tomorrow, Dean would feel better and play with Sam all day, and Mary could go back to not cooking dinner. And John? Well, he'd just do the best he could for his family that deserved the world.

 **Author's Note:** Hope you enjoyed. :) I know you guys are loving these happy times, but I'm going to use the same excuse the Supernatural writers use: You got way more chapters than I had originally planned to have Mary in (which was 4). There's still some more story to tell before she goes away though. Also, the chapters following her death won't be all depressing material, although they might be getting longer(!). I have so much in store; some Teen!chester chapters have already been written (but I haven't even started the next chapter, lol). I hope you guys are willing to bear with me for the long haul, because I'm prepared to keep on going, just like the show it's based on. On that note, Ah Season 13 is official! On another note, AH ACKLES TWINS!


	12. American Pie: 12

**Yesterday,** **All My Troubles Seemed So Far Away**

 ** _Yesterday -_ The Beatles**

 _Something's not right._

And now she remembered why. Tomorrow was the ten year anniversary of that awful, awful day when she'd lost everything.

Her mom. Her dad. John...

She hadn't sold her soul that day, she _hadn't._ She had been young, not naive. It had been ten years, but the memories of that day were vivid - mostly. For some reason, parts were just... hazy. Unexplainably so considering how crystal clear everything else was.

And why had she only remembered the significance of tomorrow yesterday?

The demon with the yellow eyes was coming. But for what?

She called her cousin again, convincing him this time over Dean's fork-derived tantrum that he needed to haul his ass over to Lawrence because the storm hadn't ceased and cows were dropping like flies. She could've sworn she smelled sulfur at the grocery store as she bought an obscene amount of salt. Because if the demon was coming, it could get her. And if it got her, it could get John. And if it got John...

"Let's play a game, Dean," she suggested after he'd calmed down.

"I don't wanna," he argued, still pouty.

"But it's a messy game," she tempted.

Dean couldn't resist that. So they played a game of "who can put the most salt in front of the doors and windows?"

She wanted to be out there helping her cousin, cleaning up her own mess, but she couldn't. She had two young children that needed protecting. It wasn't like she could drop them off with Kate or Julie with the request that they salt their doors and keep holy water on hand. No, her boys were safest with her.

She hoped.

Because if they weren't, if the demon did anything to them, she would never forgive herself.

She'd made a selfish decision bringing John back. But she couldn't have gone on without him, and looking at her boys, Dean happily scattering salt as neatly as a four-year-old can and Sam nodding off on her shoulder, she knew a life where they didn't exist was no life at all. She just hoped that their existence would still be a happy one after tomorrow.

So she did what she could, prepared excuses that she'd give to John for the mess of salt and sudden appearance of holy items.

"Mom, why are you scared?" Dean's little voice asked, snapping Mary out of her thoughts. His eyes were wide with concern.

Her father would've sat Dean down, told him he was just preparing for whatever may come tomorrow, told him the honest to God truth no matter how scared or upset it made Dean. But Mary couldn't do that, not to her little boy. There was more than one way to protect her family, and telling them everything and ruining what she'd worked so hard for was not an option. She'd lie if she had to because there are things more precious than the truth. Mary didn't have a childhood, not really, and she would do anything and everything to make sure her boys did.

"The thunder just scared me a little bit, baby, I'm okay."

Dean's eyes grew even wider as he ran to wrap his arms around her legs.

"It's okay, Mom. Don't be scared. I won't let it hurt you," he promised, and Mary's heart couldn't help but flutter at the goodness of her son. She knelt down and hugged him with her free arm. Sam reached over to his brother, wanting to be held by him. Mary smiled.

"Why don't I get us some pie and you go sit on the couch and watch Sammy?" she suggested, getting an enthusiastic nod in response. The next second Dean was seated on the couch, arms out waiting for Sam to be placed in them. Sam made a noise letting his mother know he objected to the distance put between him and his brother. "Alright, alright," Mary soothed as she walked over to Dean and Sam practically jumped out of her arms. Dean was beaming widely and playing with Sam's outstretched hand as Mary went to make do on her promise of pie.

If anyone deserved her soul, it was those two boys. Not some murderous demon with some vague plan for tomorrow. She jumped a little as the phone rang, still on edge.

"Hello?" she answered tentatively.

"Hey Mary, it's me," greeted the voice.

"Oh! Hi Paul. Any news?" It was her cousin finally getting back to her.

"I got it, Mary. I sent him back to hell."

Mary breathed a deep sigh of relief. "Oh thank God. You sure you got it though?" she asked, because she needed to know for certain that her family was safe."

"You know, I've been doing this longer than you have now," he assured.

"What colored eyes did he have?" she asked, because she had never specified.

"Huh," Paul responded. "Funny you should ask. Never seen anything like it, Mary. Strangest thing, 'cause I've only only ever seen demons with black eyes, but this one had yellow, clear as day."

Mary laughed, finally allowing herself to feel safe. "Oh, thank you, Paul. You having no idea how much better I feel. I owe you one."

Paul laughed. "Give those kids a hug for me, will ya? Haven't seen Dean since he was a baby. Might be nice to get an invite sometime so I can meet your new little one. Sam, like your daddy, right?"

"Yeah, my little Sammy. You available next weekend?"

"Oh, I'll definitely be free by then," was the response. "See ya then, huh?"

"It's a date!" said Mary, hanging up the phone and finally getting to that pie, because she could hear Dean starting to get impatient.

Unbeknownst to her, as her cousin hung up the phone on his end, his eyes flashed black. "She bought it," he told the man standing next to him.

"Good," the man responded, his eyes burning yellow. The plan was ready. Mary was at ease now, the salt lines would be cleaned up. There was nothing to stop him from acquiring another one of his special children come tomorrow night.


	13. Author's Note

Okay! So I want to divide this story up a little bit without actually posting a new story. So! All the chapters of a certain section will all be numbered and named the same in the chapter titles, while the individual chapter names will remain in the chapter itself. This is also because my titles are getting longer and the character count is over what's allowed for a chapter title.

The first section is American Pie. The second, which I will post the first chapter of shortly(ish), is Tuesday's Gone With the Wind.

Hope this makes sense! :) If you prefer it the other way, by all means message me and I'll consider going back to how it was set up before. :)

Also, I feel like I keep on switching up writing styles, and I hope that's ok. I kinda like experimenting with new ways to let my stories play out and I hope that I've been improving, or at least keep you coming back. Like I said, the following chapters are likely to get longer.

As always, thank you to all those who review. You have no idea how much it means to me. :)


	14. Tuesday's Gone: 1

**The Day the Music Died**

 _ **American Pie**_ **\- Don McLean**

Wednesday, November 2, 1983.

Mary awoke at exactly 4:02 am to Sam crying. He was 6 months old today, but not quite sleeping through the night. She'd stayed up until midnight, paranoid that something might still happen because that was usually when demon-deals went down. Sam had been cranky anyway but had finally slept a solid four hours until now. He was fighting sleep even harder now and practically inconsolable, his crying loud enough to wake the dead.

That theory was proven as Dean came walking into Sam's bedroom, wiping the sleep from his eyes. "Mom, why won't Sammy stop?" he asked, equally cranky. It was 4:15 by now.

"You know how sometimes you say you aren't tired when you are? That's what Sammy's doing. Come here," she said, sitting down and patting the floor next to her. "Help me sing him to sleep." So they sang _Hey, Jude,_ Sam cradled in her arms and Dean on her lapuntil Sam finally quieted and fell back to sleep. Dean followed closely behind as he nodded into his mother's chest. Somehow she managed to put Sam back in his crib and Dean in his bed without awakening them. At 4:36, She crawled back into bed next to John, who muttered nonsense in his sleep as he unconsciously grabbed her waist and pulled her closer to him.

A couple hours later she was awoken as John stirred to get ready for work. Half hour and a peck on the cheek later, he left, letting her know that he'd be home late tonight due to an influx of damaged cars caused by the weekend's storm. She managed a couple more minutes of sleep before Dean, sensing that his father had left, sneaked under the covers and cuddled up next to her. That lasted another hour before Sam demanded his mother's attention again, and Dean groaned reluctantly, torn between the warmth and comfort of the bed and the prospect of holding his little brother.

Sam won out, as he always did, and soon the three of them were eating breakfast.

"Guess what today is, sweetie?" Mary asked Dean as she reached over to pour syrup on his waffles.

"Tuesday?" he asked with a tilt of his head, confused as to what the significance of the question was.

"No, silly," Mary laughed, pinching his chin. "It's Wednesday. And it's Sammy's half birthday. He's six months old today."

Dean's face lit up, then fell slightly. "I didn't get him anything." He got out of his chair and onto Mary's lap so he could have better access to Sam, who slapped his hands excitedly against his high chair. "Can we make him cupcakes?" Dean pleaded.

Mary sighed; cooking and baking were by no means her favorite ways to pass the time, but Dean loved helping on the rare occasions that she did. So for him, and for Sam, cupcakes it was. She had more than one reason to celebrate anyway: the yellow-eyed demon no longer a threat, so the impending sugar high and later coma the boys would spend the afternoon in seemed like a cakewalk.

It was barely 10am when an incredibly messy kitchen and two frosting-covered kids showed evidence of the past hour's work put into what Mary thought were some fairly miserable looking cupcakes. Her sons' thought otherwise, as Dean greatly amused his little brother as he smeared frosting and cupcakes bits dramatically over his face.

"Happy birthday, Sammy," he said, climbing onto the table to kiss his giggling brother's forehead, leaving a chocolate lip imprint in his wake.

"Oh, it's definitely bathtime already," assessed Mary, wondering how many they'd need by day's end.

Dean had a massive sugar rush within five minutes of finishing his cupcake and it took nearly 20 minutes for Mary to wrangle him into the bath. Clothing was apparently now optional as he ran stark naked through the halls and up and down the stairs, giggling at his mother's attempts to catch him. _At least it's a step in the right direction,_ she thought, seeing as all she had to worry about now was luring him into the bathroom. Sam thought it was hilarious and refused to stop laughing regardless of how frustrated his mother pretended to sound.

Finally though, the prospect of Dean helping his mom give Sam a bath won out as he calmed down enough to be trusted to sit behind Sam in the tub. His little brother was still a little wobbly when it came to sitting up on his own, so Dean kept a hand close to his back just in case while Sam splashed playfully at the water.

Mary smiled at the closeness of her sons. They were such blessings. Dean was already a more caring and loving soul than she could have ever hoped for. And Sam was still a baby, but his light-heartedness and his little laughs and the way he looked at her with his big hazel (for today; they were constantly changing) eyes convinced Mary that the brothers took more after each other than their own parents. It broke her heart in the sweetest way possible; they'd grow up to be better men than she and John could've ever imagined. She laughed at herself. Every mom said that about their kids.

Of course, Dean had to go and ruin the moment by letting rip a rather loud one, giggling smugly at his accomplishment, then outright laughing as Sam gave a show of solidarity and his mom's face wrinkled in disgust.

"Just wait 'til they're teenagers," her aunt, who had two grown boys of her own, had warned. Boy, was Mary in for it with these two.

...

The remainder of the day passed relatively as expected: Dean was still too amped up on sugar to go down for a nap, but Sam mercifully did with little effort. After that was mostly playtime and cuddles and laundry. Dean only had one major meltdown (and two minor ones) which Mary considered a win. He'd skipped his nap altogether today, so by an early bedtime at around 8, he was more than willing to cooperate.

Sam was already laying in his crib, not quite asleep yet, but not fussing. She picked Dean up and headed into Sam's room.

Mary watched in the doorway as John read a short excerpt from the "Out of the Frying-Pan, Into the Fire" chapter of _The Hobbit._ Dean was already nodding off, so John cut it short and pushed off the bed as Mary took over, placing his hand on her shoulder as she told their son that angels were watching over him. She only got through the first verse of _Hey, Jude_ before Dean was out like a light.

The time read 8:12pm. The clock in Sam's room stopped.

...

At 11:26, John was awoken by the terrified scream of his wife. By 11:27, his life had burst into flames before his eyes.

...

 _This isn't rea_ _l,_ Dean kept telling himself, his eyes shut tight. It couldn't be real, because if it was...

"Buddy?" a distant voice asked. "Uh, Dean?" He opened his eyes and found himself face-to-face with a police officer. Dean was raised to respect the law, and while the officer was offering a reassuring smile, his uniform and the reason behind why he was there intimidated Dean. "Hey, buddy. Just wanted to ask you a few questions, that okay, bud?"

Dean just stared, his brows furrowed and his lips pressed tightly together.

The officer took the silence as an implied approval. "Just wanted to know if you saw anything that happened tonight? Notice anything funny or unusual?"

Dean breathed out his nose, tucking himself further behind his dad and up against the Impala. The fire that blazed from their house across the street seered across his sheening eyes. He'd heard him and his dad talking. His... the fire had started out of nowhere as it consumed his... But he couldn't even think it, much less say it aloud. That would mean that the nightmare he'd awoken to was in fact very much real. So he kept his mouth shut and gave the officer an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

"Well you let your dad know if you do, okay?" he responded, giving what was supposed to be a comforting touch to his shoulder, but had Dean backing further behind his father.

"We're gonna need you to stay in town," the officer said in a professional voice to his dad as he stood back up. "Just in case we have any more... questions."

Dean chanced a look up to his father, and saw that he too was staring blankly at what used to be their house, but was now a blackening mess of flames and smoke as the firefighters fought to control it. Deep down, Dean knew they'd lost more than just a house. All his toys were probably gone. Sam's too, who was at the moment busy pulling at his dad's shirt and cooing to himself, unaware of the gravity of the situation. Dean's clothing was probably gone too, his favorite stuffed animal, his... No, not that. He could handle losing everything else, but he couldn't handle that.

"You got anywhere to stay tonight?" the officer asked in a gentler tone.

Dean saw his dad snap out of his trance, still disoriented. "I, uh. I don't know." He rubbed his forehead. "Yeah, maybe. Got a friend I might be able to stay with until... I, uh... I need a phone though."

"Let's see if one of your neighbors will let you borrow their's," offered the officer. He looked over his shoulder. "Hey, uh, I know you don't wanna leave your kids, but my partner has two of her own, so she's real good with them, if you wanna let her watch them while we get you and your boys a place to stay."

His dad, who had minutes before vehemently insisted that Dean stay by his side while the officer interviewed him, seemed to consider it. "I, uh... Yeah, that's fine I guess." The officer called over to his partner, a short, pleasant looking woman. "I'll be quick about it," his dad added on.

Dean looked up at his dad in terror. He didn't want to leave him, didn't think he could. He clutched tighter onto his dad's leg in protest.

"Dean..." he said in what would have been a stern voice if it wasn't so laced with sorrow. So Dean relented, unsure of what to do with his arms now. His dad opened the door of the Impala so the lady officer could be more comfortable during her watch, cautiously handing her Sam. Seemingly satisfied that his boys were in good hands, he walked away towards the neighbor's house. Dean stared after him, wrapping his arms around himself, standing stiffly in front of his babysitter.

"What's your favorite color?" she asked as a means of distraction. Red was the answer, but that was the color of the beast that was busy devouring his life. He didn't respond, but looked up at the night sky, watching as the blinking lights of a distant airplane flew overhead. He'd heard his dad say something about his... about being on the ceiling. Maybe she... Had she been flying? It was the only explanation he could think of, but he knew it wasn't normal for people to fly. He shuddered as the blinking lights passed out of sight.

 _This isn't real,_ he told himself again. It couldn't be.

...

"Oh, sweetie, I'm so sorry," said Kate, scooping him into her arms, but he just leaned into her shoulder.

"Just let us know if you need anything," he heard Mike say to his dad. "Anything at all. I know you don't want to hear this, but you'll get through this."

"Yeah…" his dad responded softly. He turned to Kate. "I, uh. I haven't talked to him yet. Any way you could put Sam down?"

"Of course, John," she said, as she passed Dean over to his father and took Sam in her arms.

His dad carried him over to the couch and set him down, kneeling in front of him. He was going to tell him everything was alright. It was just another one of Dad's not-funny jokes. It wasn't real. She hadn't been flying, because that was only possible in dreams or the nightmare he was currently in.

"Dean…" he heard his dad say. Dean looked up at his face, but not in his eyes. There was something unexplainable in them, and it scared him. "Dean, I need you to look at me," he said, his voice sounding as scared as Dean felt.

So he did. He blinked hard as he fought back tears, preparing himself to hear words he didn't want to hear.

"I know you heard me talking to the cop earlier," he continued slowly. "But I need you to know what it means."

Dean knit his brows together. He didn't want to know what it meant.

"Something... bad happened to your mother. Something I can't even... I don't want to believe... But I have to. And I..." He paused as he turned his head away to fight back tears. "Dean... Mommy's... God, I can't do this, Dean, I can't."

Dean heaved silently as a tear fell down his father's cheek.

His dad placed his hand on Dean's cheek. "I need you to be strong for me, Dean." He shook his head. "Because I can't."

So Dean shoved back the fear and the other unfamiliar feelings threatening to consume him. His dad needed him to.

"Dean..." he managed to continue, strengthened by his son. "Dean, Mommy's gone. She... she's not coming back." He sighed heavily. "Not because she doesn't love you, she loves you and Sam so much... God, Dean, I don't even know if you'll understand this." He looked up at his son, who looked back at him with unreal calmness, trying to hide the horror that lay beneath it. "Dean, Mommy's dead."

No. No she wasn't. Because none of this was real, and the concept of death made no sense. Nobody could be gone _forever._ This was a dream... a nightmare. His dad had never cried before, and people couldn't fly, so he would wake up in the morning to his mom rubbing his back, and then they'd spend the day cleaning the house and playing with Sammy. His Dad would come home from work and Dean would leap into his arms like he always did and this nightmare would soon be a distant memory. So he hugged his not-real dad, who sobbed silently in his arms. And still Dean said nothing, because what was the point of further validating something that was torturing him while he slept? Eventually he was carried to his not-real room, because this wasn't his house, he didn't sleep in a spare bedroom and his dad didn't sleep on a couch. He'd wake up in the morning and it'd all be over.

So why couldn't he fall asleep?


	15. Tuesday's Gone: 2

**Who Feels It, Knows It, Lord**

 ** _Running Away -_ Bob Marley and the Wailers**

Dean awoke to darkness.

Sometime between trying to understand what had happened and willing himself to believe it wasn't real, he'd fallen asleep. And now, he thought he might be awake, but he couldn't be sure. He wasn't in his own bed, however, so he must still be in the nightmare. But the reason he'd awoken made itself known as the sound of Sam crying reached him from another room. He heard the soft voice of a woman comforting him and he sprang out of bed.

It was his mom. It had to be. Who else would awake in the middle of the night to quiet his brother?

He padded quietly down the hallways, following Sam's cries until he stood before the partially closed door. He pressed his hand against it, meaning to open it to find his brother cradled in his mother's arms. But he didn't. He knew she wouldn't be behind the door. He knew it'd be Jay's mom, not his. But if he never went in, he could still pretend it was her. Pretend he could hear her singing to him. Pretend that he was cuddled in her lap, laying against her and wiggling Sam's toes as they both drifted back to sleep in her arms.

Sam would not calm. He wanted his mother, not a substitute. Dean's heart was torn between going in and holding Sam until he fell asleep and waiting outside until his not-mom left and he could go in and pretend his mom had gone back to bed. He stared at the door, unmoving while Sam wept.

He jumped as he felt something brush against his arm. It was Jay, holding her favorite blanket and stuffed lamb. He longed for his own. "You can sweep in my room if you wan'," she offered. "Can't hear him cwying from there."

Dean shook his head. She shrugged and walked off back to bed. She didn't have a brother; she didn't understand. He couldn't just leave Sam, not when his father was refusing to wake, and his mother was...

He backed into the shadows as Sam began to fuss less and less. He crawled into the linen closet until he heard footsteps leaving the room where Sam was. Slowly, he got out, trying not to make any noise as he pushed the door open and walked silently over to the crib.

The people of the community had quickly gathered together to get the Winchester's the essentials they'd need to get through the next few weeks: diapers, a crib, and other things for Sam, and a few toys and blankets for Dean. But they weren't _his_ things. His things were gone. He wanted to break down, but he couldn't. He couldn't feel anything, but at the same time he felt everything. He bit down on his lower lip as he stared into the crib. Sam seemed to sense a familial presence rather than the substitute who had been holding him as he whimpered and reached his tiny hand towards his brother.

 _I'm here, Sammy,_ Dean wanted to say. But he couldn't. Speaking meant hearing his own voice. It made it more real. And this couldn't be real. So he climbed over the bars separating him from his brother. Even in the dark, Dean could see the sheen of tears on Sam's face. Real tears, not the fake ones he used to get attention from their m-... to get attention. Dean cupped his brother's round cheeks in his hands, brushing away the tears as Sam sniffled.

 _I'm sorry, Sammy,_ he thought as he laid down and cuddled Sam in his arms.

He tried to stay laying on his side so he could be wrapped around Sam. But he couldn't. In that position, he had a view of the ceiling. And he couldn't be sure whether he was imagining things based on what his father had said or if he had actually seen it with his own eyes, but every time he looked up he saw her: a figure crying out and burning up before him. He hastily wiped away the tears threatening to make an appearance, not wanting to upset Sam. He positioned himself on his stomach, head propped up on one crooked arm, his nose digging into the mattress, and his other arm draped across Sam. He managed to fall asleep again, because it was either that or face the awful reality surrounding him.

...

A couple hours later, Dean made a hasty retreat under the crib when Sam resumed crying once more. A pang of guilt struck him as Sam gave a desparate cry at the loss of Dean next to him.

A few minutes past and still no one came. He was about to crawl back into the crib, unable to bear the separation, when a tall figure pushed open the door.

His Dad.

Dean wasn't entirely sure if he wanted to come out from under the crib for him or not. Recalling the conversation they'd had before bed, he decided against it.

"Shhh, Sammy, it's okay," he heard his father say in a cracked, tired voice. "Daddy's got you. I won't let anything hurt you, I promise."

Dean couldn't help but wonder why his father hadn't kept the same promise to her.

Sam's screaming continued. His father paced back and forth, bouncing the baby in his arms, before heading out the door and walking down the hallway.

Dean let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. But moments later, he heard his dad yell out, "Dean!" in desparation.

Dean leapt out from under the crib, his heart pounding, dreading whatever new evil awaited him. But Sam was there, so he couldn't allow fear to overtake him.

"Dean, where are you!" his dad called out again.

They met in the hallway outside the room Dean had been sleeping in. "Dean, there you are!" his father exclaimed, relief replacing the panic in his face. He knelt so he could scoop his son close to him, holding on for dear life. "Don't _do_ that, son. You scared me!" Sam was still screaming.

 _I'm sorry, Daddy,_ he wanted to say, his heart pounding out of his chest, but he wrapped an arm around his dad's neck and Sam's back instead, gently rubbing their backs in an effort to calm them both down.

"Everything alright?" said Mike's gruff voice from behind. Dean didn't turn to look at him, instead burying his face into his father's neck.

"Everything's fine," his dad assured. Nothing more was said, so Dean assumed Mike gave the same shrug Jay had given him and gone back to bed.

His dad brought him an arm's length away so he could look him in the eye. "Don't ever do that again, Dean," his voice was harsh but his eyes were pained. "I can't lose you, too." He brought Dean in close again. "Oh, God, don't let me lose you," he whimpered as he began to weep, shaking quietly into his son's shoulder.

But still Dean didn't cry. He couldn't feel. Sure, he felt the wetness soak his shirt from his father's tears, felt Sam grasp his arm as he cried and cried. But he felt nothing inside. It was easier this way. If he let himself feel he was sure he would break.

Eventually, his dad gained some semblance of control, standing back up with both boys in his arms. "Do you want to sleep with Sam tonight?" he whispered in Dean's ear. He nodded into his shoulder, thankful that he wouldn't have to feign sleep again and sneak back back in.

...

When Dean awoke after a fitful sleep - Sam's crying and whimpering could not be calmed, no matter how hard Dean tried - it was to his dad's gentle touch on his back. His dad let him know he had to go out for a bit to figure things out, find what had killed her. Dean froze, unable to react.

Killed?

He didn't move from his position on his stomach until Kate came to tend to his still fussy brother.

"Come get some breakfast," she said softly, and while he really didn't want to, his stomach insisted.

Jay was waiting for them at the table, already starting her own breakfast.

"Unca John sad," she announced. Dean's lip quivered. She continued, unaware of the effect of her words. "Where's Aun' Mare?"

Dean's eyes widened and he heard Kate gasp and begin to offer some well-meaning explanation, but Dean was gone. He ran into the bathroom and slammed the door behind him, locking it before he backed away quickly as if it would hurt him if he stayed too close.

But he was wondering the same thing himself. Where was she? Yes, she was dead, but she would be back. She had to be. Someone was pounding on the door, asking to be let in, but he didn't hear. He was busy building something in his mind. He went back to when she'd left for the weekend. He'd missed her, but she'd came back. She would always come back. She loved him, and he said he'd never leave her. She would come back. The angels were watching over him, so they had to be watching over her, too.

Gradually, he calmed himself down enough to face Jay and her mom again. No matter what they said, she was coming back. He just had to be patient.

He opened the door to find a teary-eyed Jay before him. "M'sorry," she muttered, clearly distraught that she'd upset him.

 _It's okay,_ he thought as he pulled her into a hug.

"Wanna draw with me?" she offered minutes later, tears dried, and back to her usual cheerful self.

Dean faked a smile and nodded. It was a distraction, at least.

Kate set them up with some paper and crayons, Sam finally tiring himself out enough to sleep soundly. Jay hummed happily to herself as she drew pictures of what she'd insist was the puppy she was trying to convince her parents to get her, but really looked like nothing more than brown scribbles.

Dean worked in silence. This was helping. He didn't think he'd feel like talking anytime soon, but drawing was okay. He'd drawn with _her_ a million times. This was familiar. He worked diligently on one picture while Jay drew 10 scribbles until he heard a knock on the door and Kate opened it to reveal his father.

"I need to talk to him," he heard him say to Kate, who quickly ushered her daughter out of the room. Dean flipped the drawing over, unsure if his dad would be okay with what he'd drawn.

His dad squatted down next to him. "Hey, kiddo." He was smiling, but Dean knew it was fake. "What'd you do today?"

Dean glanced at the paper and crayon covered table, picking up his drawing and holding the picture away from his dad, pressed into his own chest.

"Still not talking, huh?" His dad bit his lower lip. He always did that when he was about to deliver bad news. He shifted his legs so he was kneeling on one, bringing Dean in closer to rest against the other, who was still clutching his drawing close. "I'm sorry if I scared you this morning," he said, tucking a strand of hair behind Dean's ear.

 _Killed._

"But you need to understand," he continued. Dean's glance briefly left the floor and met his father's. "There's something out there. I don't know what it is. But I won't let it kill you, too. I swear I won't let it hurt you or Sammy." His voice was rough, barely containing the emotions behind it. "We'll kill the thing that killed her, Dean. I swear to you, I'll do anything to find it." He was angry now, his lips quivered with it. Dean shivered involuntarily.

Dean's eyes darted back and forth across his dad's face, trying to understand what he was saying without having to admit the truths behind them. He found no answers.

His dad's face softened. "It's okay, Dean. Don't be scared." He grasped a reassuring hand on his son's shoulder.

But what his dad didn't understand was that it wasn't some monster that scared him. It wasn't fear of getting hurt. It was fear of losing her. He looked down at the drawing in his arms again, trying to grasp at what he used to know.

"Can I see your drawing?" his dad asked, seeming more calm now. Dean hesitantly placed the paper in his father's outstretched hand, his teeth grazing over his lower lip in nervousness.

The softened look his father usually had before praising Dean's work soon shifted rapidly from what looked to Dean like surprise, sorrow, anger, then hurt.

"Dean..." he whispered, broken. "You can't... I'm sorry, I can't..." His breathing became labored as grief overtook him. He looked Dean in the eyes, brimming with tears. "Don't. Please don't say you saw." He rubbed his hand down his face. "Don't... Don't draw something like this again." He stood abruptly, dropping the paper on the floor, and walked out the room.

Dean shrank into himself, staring down at his drawing. He'd been happy. She was there. But it was wrong.

The levee finally broke as tears rolled down his cheeks. He grabbed the paper and ripped it down the middle. In his hands was a man in a brown jacket, holding a baby in one arm while the other hand held that of a green eyed child.

On the floor lay a figure who'd been drawn a little further away, a little higher up than the others. A woman wearing a white dress, with red and orange and yellow surrounding her.


End file.
